


War!

by Uthizaar



Series: The Cycle of Theodric [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternative Universe- Magical, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Barebacking, Battle, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Bottom Liam Dunbar, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Bottom Theo Raeken, Bounty Hunter Gabe, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Cum Eating, Darach Theo Raeken, Deepthroating, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Druids, Edging, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, Human Sacrifice, Inspirational Speeches, Kissing, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Magical Weapons, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Mysticism, Necromancy, Nemeton, Nipple Play, No Chimeras, Pagan Gods, Past Liam/Corey, Polyamory, Precum, Prophetic Visions, Rimming, Secrets, Smooth Liam, Spells & Enchantments, Top Corey Bryant, Top Isaac Lahey, Top Jordan Parrish, Treachery, Underwater Blow Jobs, Underwater Sex, Violence, War, Water Sex, Werewolves, cum, cum as lube, power, raunchy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-30 08:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uthizaar/pseuds/Uthizaar
Summary: War comes to the southern lands as the druid Stiles gathers his allies and prepares to meet the dread sorcerer Findabair in battle. Secrets abound, and plans are revealed in this penultimate story of The Cycle of Theodric!As this is Part 6 of the series, you may want to read the other parts first!





	1. The Banners That Flutter

**Author's Note:**

> The following chapter contains explicit sexual content, see the tags for details. Please always practice safe sex and do not rely on magical charms or curses to keep you protected!
> 
> I have pre-written the entire story and will release a chapter each day this week, with the conclusion on Saturday. Chapters will be uploaded in the afternoon/evening EST.

Stiles stood next to Scotti and Malia as they watched the farmers returning from the fields around the village. The day was warm, and the sun arched across the clear blue sky towards another sunset, blustery winds causing the fine white wool of the druid robe and cloak to flit and flutter around him. He could see the frown on the Chieftain’s forehead becoming more pronounced as each of the farmers passed by, their gathered sheafs small and easily carried. 

“Is this all?” Scotti muttered, turning to look at Stiles. “I know that the winter snows and the…earlier heat of the season would have an effect, but I thought we could recover? That the seeds sown would bear greater bounty?”

“Perhaps the harvest will come later?” Malia offered and placed a hand on Scotti’s arm. “In my village in the far north, we often gathered wheat when the trees were shedding the last of their leaves.”

“I wish that were the case here.” Scotti smiled sadly at her. “Master druid, what are your thoughts?”

“Hmm,” Stiles grunted, frowning as Scotti used his title and not his name; an occurrence that had happened more and more since he returned to the clan and rid them of the wrath of the gods. “We still have time to gather what has been planted before the sun turns from us. There is plenty in the forest and rivers to sustain our people should the worst come to pass. And if that is still not enough, we can kill some of the sheep and bulls.”

“Gah,” The Chieftain blanched. “I would rather we did not have to do that; we lost so many of our animals during the…during…”

“I know.” Stiles nodded tactfully, seeing Scotti press his lips together gratefully. “Our people are flagging, Scotti, they would benefit from their Chieftain to raise their moods. Speak to them, cheer them, tell them that all will be as it was before. Bolster their spirits!”

“And who will bolster mine?” Scotti shrugged and walked away, heading back to the roundhouse, scuffing his feet against the dry earth.

“Go after him Malia,” Stiles gestured, tucking his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe. “We will need Scotti for the battle that is to come.”

“He is right though.” She glanced at him. “I can see it in their eyes; they do not trust their leader, they do not trust each other, especially those who have returned from the mountain. The women say that Scotti’s pride blinded him, the men grumble that without a smith, they will be unable to fight.”

“And what do you say?”

“I say that this war should come quickly and either end this village or revitalise it!”

“Hmph.” Stiles hid his smile and watched Malia walk quickly away before he could respond. “Well, you will soon have your wish. War is mere days away…”

 

Liam glanced up from the cold forge as Stiles passed, the druid heading towards the Nemeton. Yeshua was following behind him, arms full of sticks, bundles of herbs, and several stone tablets, increasing his pace as Stiles called for him to hurry up. The warrior smirked to himself and watched them until they disappeared inside the sacred grove. Liam turned his attention back to the smooth surface of the table in front of him. Korey’s tools were still where he had placed them on the day that Scotti… “No,” The warrior grunted and tore his gaze away from the rows of hammers and cutters and the other items of the smithing craft that Korey had made for himself. 

He walked over to the stack of raw iron ore instead and felt a smile pull at his lips as he remembered the day, or rather, night, that Korey had made his discovery of how to purify the ore into a bloom that he could actually work with. The forge had been hotter than Liam had ever experienced it; the entire pile of charcoal fed into a tall pillar-like furnace that he and Korey had built that previous afternoon. Now that the bottom had been opened, the smith had dragged Liam over to see the fiery mass of pure iron being dragged out as bright fragments of molten “slag”, as Korey called it, were cast aside and the bloom was left intact. 

“That was a good day,” Liam muttered to himself as he stood up.

“Today could be better!”

“Huh?” He turned around at the familiar voice, a smile spreading across his face as Íosác bowed before him. “What are you doing here?!”

“The druid Stiles has called for all the leaders of the Alliance to assemble in your village,” Íosác explained as Liam gestured for them to leave the forge behind. “He is to discuss the war with us at the sacred Nemeton; there have been many skirmishes along the borders of the southern lands of late. The magic of the aes sídhe is a powerful shield to protect my clan, however, I fear that this news will not come as welcome relief to the Keepers of the Divide: Findabair will surely concentrate her attack at the pass.” The Chieftain shrugged as Liam stared at him and nodded cautiously. “Apologies, the road has been long and lonely; I went on ahead of my warriors.”

“You’re alone?” Liam looked around him to see that Íosác had planted his long spear near the village entrance, his clan’s flag drifting in the wind from its point. The fat trout lying on a field of blue looked somewhat _too_ cheerful next to the black sigil of the Nemeton that adorned Scotti’s banners, but Liam flicked his eyes back across Íosác instead. “Where is your army?”

“They desired to say a final goodbye to their loved ones and, well, you have been to my village; everyone is a loved one!” Íosác smirked suggestively at him and ran a hand down his bare chest. He was dressed as Liam had seen him before; not completely naked as he and his clan were when in their lands, but as Liam had met him during their travels to the Stone Rings. A deep green cloak wrapped around Íosác’s back and shoulders, tied across his chest this time by a thin leather band that drew the eye along developed muscles and a wide expanse of smooth, milky-white skin. Liam glanced down, following the direction of the leather cords as they attached to the much-shorter-than-before trousers Íosác was wearing, muscular thighs and bulging pouch clear to see. “The days were hot, and I did not think you mind my appearance. Or perhaps your-”

“He is not among the clan any longer.” Liam interrupted quickly, feeling his cock harden both in response to the sight before him, and the memories of pleasure under the waterfall that he had shared with Íosác during the festival of Beltaine. “He may arrive later with the Mountain Clan, but it matters not.”

“As you say.” Íosác nodded and folded his arms, biceps bulging and drawing Liam’s eye upwards to swipe across the smooth skin of his upper arms. 

“You look as though you could rest after the road, perhaps wash the dust away before meeting with Stiles and the others?” Liam asked, hope dragging his voice into a husky tone. “I know of a river nearby that is sheltered, warmed by the sun, and ideal for…catching up!”

“By all means,” Íosác grinned back at him. “Lead the way!”

 

“Do you understand?” Stiles looked over the blood-stained altar at his acolyte, seeing Yeshua nod slowly. “Good, when the time comes to kill the sacrifice, slit the neck if it is an animal, and the blood will flow across the stone like so. And if it is human, then stab down into the heart in one swift strike.”

“What if that doesn’t work?” He followed Stiles’ gestures and movements attentively. “Like when you and Theodric broke the gods’ curse a cycle of the moon ago?”

“Ah, well, in some cases you will have to help the process along.” Stiles replied with a shrug. “But worry not, over time you will build a bond with one or more of the gods and the sacrifices will be better received. Remember what I told you, Yeshua, take time away from the village to live among the nature of the forest; learn its wisdom, hear its rhythms, feel its power all around you. Only then will be strong enough of a druid to guard the Nemeton and its secrets.”

“You keep talking as though you will not return from this battle, Stiles.”

“I am being careful.” The druid shrugged off his concerns and reached across the altar for another tablet. “Should I fall in combat, it will be up to you to guide Scotti-or whoever is left-and ensure that the clan endures, our customs survive, and the gods are ever honored. We cannot know the fate of each man, only the gods know that.”

“But you are a seer,” Yeshua insisted, stepping closer to his teacher. “The Dagda shows you visions of the future, surely, there must be something you can tell me!”

“If only that were the case,” Stiles whispered to himself. “The future is not set and looking for answers in a muddy pool will give you no peace, my acolyte. Look, instead, to history and the tales of our clan and all the clans of the South. While you may not be of our lands, the gods delivered you safely to our shores for a reason, and I do not think it will be to die at the hands of our enemies.”

“As you say, master druid.”

“Very well,” Stiles pointed at a curved blade, “Hand me the sickle and I will show you how to collect holly for Alban Arthuan. Interestingly, this method can also be used to part the breath of a _abhartach,_ a reagent for several useful potions that I will show you later.”

“Perhaps you can push that to ‘much later’?” Gaibriél emerged from the treeline behind them and raised his hand in greeting. He smiled as Stiles turned and Yeshua frowned. “Don’t worry, I will not detain your teacher for long.”

“Good, because I have much to do and little time in which to do it!” Stiles grinned and pointed Gaibriél towards the far side of the clearing. “Yeshua, begin reading the tablet, your Ogham is lacking and needs to be improved before we start on the advanced potions and spells.”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Follow me, Gaibriél.”

The hunter of men walked next to him as they moved out of earshot of the acolyte. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, I simply wish to speak to you in private.” Stiles cast his eyes over the handsome man and then looked past him to the trees where he came from. “Did you find them?”

“Of course, they’re a curious bunch.” Gaibriél shrugged, hands on his bare hips, cloak pushed back. “And I found them frolicking outside their evergreen home; their king spoke with me-”

“Nolan.”

“Yes, that’s him.” Gaibriél paused, watching Stiles as he continued. “Nolan…he’s a handsome one!”

“Hmm, what color was his skin?” 

“Um, white, well, pale, as though the sun had never heated his flawless flesh!”

“And the others?” Stiles asked, nodding slowly.

“They were black, as dark as midnight. Why?”

“The color of an aes sídhe tells you their rank and their power. Nolan’s has changed since we last had dealings with him,” The druid explained, gesturing vaguely. “As I recall, the brighter the tone, the higher the status. But that matters little now, did they agree to help us?”

“Reluctantly.” The hunter of men nodded. “They understand the danger Findabair presents; something about their northern kin having retreated to their fairy forts and never venturing out to the surface again. I think, also, that they appreciated the manner in which the request was delivered.”

“Oh?” Stiles smirked, “Theodric believes that the aes sídhe have a fondness for sheep and that is why they keep stealing them, but the truth is that to the Fair Folk there are few things as perfect as plump, woolly sheep! I believe that they use them as beds for their children.”

“Nolan did make it clear that he wanted a dozen or so in return for their aid in the battle.”

“That should be easily handled.” Stiles nodded as though he had expected the response. “The aes sídhe also have a fondness for perfection in…other places.” The druid smiled when Gaibriél ran a hand down his smooth, muscular chest. “Just so.”

“Hmm, that knowledge would have been helpful _before_ I met them, master druid.” Gaibriél sighed. “Nolan was reasonable, just very intense, and slightly ridiculous in that massive crown. But it was the other one, Macen, I was barely talking when his hands started to wander all over me!”

“Do not complain so much, Gaibriél, I would begin to think you did not enjoy it.” Stiles grinned, the expression sliding off his face as he heard Yeshua yelp in pain. “Gah, my acolyte seems to have forgotten the most important rule.”

“Oh?”

“Do not grab the sickle blade-first!” He nodded at Gaibriél apologetically. “There is food and mead waiting for you in the druid’s roundhouse at the edge of the village. Take it and get some rest, there is one more task I would ask of you before the war comes crashing down upon us.”

“Name it and it will be done.” The hunter of men replied quickly.

“There is a tablet on the table in the center of my home, you cannot miss it. The engravings depict a powerful creature, some say it is a mythical beast not of this world.”

“You want me to find it?”

“No, no, we do not have time, there is something else the tablet speaks of.” Stiles walked back to Yeshua, pointing the acolyte at his nearby herb bag. “Gaibriél, I will ask you find me the Tear of Airmed, a powerful amulet that was hidden long ago. Follow the woods from the village until they lead you out into meadowland. Then keep going west until you come to a ring of tall, spear-like stones, their tips stained dark with crimson red. Enter the ring, but do so naked; no clothes, no weapons, just as you were on your first day.”

“And then what?”

“The amulet will come to you,” Stiles explained, watching Yeshua bind his wounded hand and nodding approvingly at the task’s completion. “A shade will appear and attempt to strike you down. But stand fast and the magic will dissipate, leaving the amulet. If the gods will it, I will still be in the village by the time you return. If not, come to the battle: the power contained in that amulet may be the difference between Findabair’s victory and our own.”

“I’ll find it.” Gaibriél smiled and gripped Stiles’ shoulder once before he turned away, heading back to the village.

“Yeshua! If you cannot follow simple instruction, what use will you be to the village when I am gone?!” Stiles scolded the acolyte, grunting a moment later and gestured at the altar. “Well, do not stand there like a lump! Tell me of the ritual of Samhain!”

 

Liam nodded at the river as it appeared in between the trees along the bank, a band of glistening silver winding its way through the forest towards the far distant lake near the mountain that Korey now lived on. The warrior pushed the lingering thoughts from his mind and instead glanced at Íosác, feeling his lips twitch as the Chieftain grinned eagerly and his eyes lit up. “It may not be as pretty as your waterfall cave, but the way the sun hits the water and the trees bar the wind from approaching makes it the perfect spot to clean off the dust of a long journey.”

“It is perfect indeed!” Íosác was already unclasping his cloak from the silver broach that held it to the leather straps that wrapped around his torso, letting it fall to the ground near the bank. “Will you join me? It is always easier to have someone else to wash your back!”

“Well, I haven’t bathed yet today, and I suppose I should if the other clans send their representatives.” Liam replied slowly, eyes concentrating on Íosác’s muscular ass cheeks flexing and bouncing as the man stripped fully naked and walked in front of him towards the water’s edge. “Uh, that would account for an extended absence too.”

“Oh, good!”

Liam wetted his lips and pulled the tunic over his head, hearing a splash and cry of surprise from Íosác. “What’s wrong?”

“Warmer than I expected is all, good though!”

“Great.” Liam muttered, finally managing to get the stubborn, woollen jerkin off, his strong arms making the fabric bulge and tighten in the most awkward places. He was aware of Íosác watching him from the water, hair wet and drops falling down his chest towards his waistline which was also submerged in the river, preventing Liam from seeing if the Chieftain was excited by his presence or not. 

The warrior kicked off his boots and dropped his trousers in one easy motion, his semi-erect dick springing out to slap loudly against his stomach. Liam grinned when Íosác did and took a running jump from the bank into the river, crashing through the surface as he managed to clasp his arms around his knees before the impact. “Haha!”

“As warm as you hoped?”

“Warmer!” Liam surfaced, blowing water from his mouth and shaking wet hair from his eyes. “Hard to believe that only a lunar cycle ago this entire river was down to a trickle; high banks of earth on either side.”

“I heard the stories from passing travellers of the…misfortune that befell your clan.” Íosác replied, swimming over to him, both of them floating near the middle of the slow flowing river. “I thought that we should render aid, but our elders said that what was happening was the will of the gods and we should stay away. It gladdens my heart that you survived intact.”

“Hmm, not intact exactly.” Liam swam onto his back, so he could thrust his hips up through the water and display his half-hard cock. “Smaller than before, huh?”

“Still as pretty though!” Íosác grinned and glided his hand over the shaft, his fingers grazing the head as Liam bit back a moan. The Chieftain seemed as though he was about to grasp it fully, but instead Íosác dived underwater and swam beneath Liam, emerging under him and wrapping his arms around the warrior’s torso. “Hah!”

“Hey!” Liam didn’t struggle as soon as he felt the grip lessen and the thickness that was pressing against his ass. “Come to the shallows if you want to mess around! At least give me the chance to defend in water we can both stand in!”

“That seems fair,” Íosác laughed and released him. “It will be easier to wash there too.”

“Agreed.” Liam muttered, eyes once again forged onto the man’s back as he waded towards the bank, the tops of his ass cheeks coming into view. The last time they had been so free and naked, Liam had been buried in between those two tight mounds and filling Íosác’s hole with his hot cum. He wasn’t sure if the Chieftain wanted the same to happen again, or even if _he_ wanted that either. Korey had-

“Liam?” Íosác pushed him gently. “Are you well?”

“Yes, of course, just getting lost in the past a lot today.” Liam shook his head, angry at himself, but he forced a smile and pulled his body out of the water to sit on the bank next to Íosác. “It is nothing of concern.”

“As you say.” They sat in silence for a moment, each kicking their feet along the surface of the water, waves rippling outwards from the disturbance. Íosác gave Liam an appraising gaze causing the younger man to flush and arch a brow at him.

“What?”

“Nothing…just, I see that you are now completely smooth across your body; legs and arms too, though not your head. Is this some custom of the Big Dick Clan?!”

“I do not think we can call ourselves that any longer.” Liam shook his head ruefully. “But it is a custom of sorts. Not all of the warriors are so bold to do it, but a lot of us will enter battle with a sword in one hand and a spear in the other, and nothing else. We shall paint ourselves with Stiles’ guidance to intimidate our foes and bring honor to our clan!”

“You’ll go to battle…naked?”

“I’ve never been to war,” Liam admitted a moment later, plucking the grass at the water’s edge. “Scotti and Stiles kept us safe from any skirmishes that happened in the war seasons up to now, and even then, only bandits and the eastern clans would bother to come across the great river that divides our lands from theirs. The gods might have forgiven Scotti, but I don’t think they’ll let the rest of us who stood with him off so easily. The more enemies I can kill in battle, the better!”

“Easy, Liam, easy.” Íosác smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Save your fury for the heat of combat, trust me that you will need it then. For now, let us focus on getting clean, hmm?!” He reached behind him towards his discarded cloak and pulled out a small, white ball of a waxy nature. Íosác rolled it between his wet hands, suds forming in greater amounts the more he rubbed. “I have another such ball of soap, let me wash first and then you can try it for yourself!”

“Go ahead.” Liam watched him curiously as Íosác lathered the “soap” all over his torso and arms, his cock getting harder as the Chieftain’s hands lingered on his wide pectoral muscles and nipples as he teased them into erect peaks. 

“Mmmh, that is a fine trick!”

“Tell me, Liam,” Íosác said as he moved his hands lower onto his abdomen, still spreading the suds across his marble body. “You and the smith, is your bond broken forever?”

“I think so.” Liam replied after a few seconds of silence. “I wish…I wish that was not the case, but I made choices that were the wrong ones, and now he is no longer mine. Though we joined often in pleasure, that was not why losing him was so hard. I felt that there could have been something more, something unending with him.”

“Apologies, I did not know that your feelings for him ran so deep.”

“Neither did I.” Liam managed a laugh, “Perhaps in time Korey will forgive me, but he has to come to that decision alone; I cannot force him to do so.”

“And your needs?” Íosác asked as he spread the lather onto his hardening cock and large balls. “Are they being met?”

“Oh, of course, our customs are close to yours, though not nearly as all encompassing!” Liam grinned at him. “Now, didn’t you say that you had another such ball of soap? My body is smooth and it looks as though it works particularly well on your soft skin!”

 

Íosác grinned as Liam emerged from under the river’s surface in a rush, his smooth skin free of the soap, water beading on his chest and arms. “Looks like you’re all clean now.”

“Hmm, you too.” Liam smiled and stood up, they were in the shallower part of the river. He pointed at a ledge that had been carved into the stone of the bank next to them, a seat that allowed the user’s body to be submerged up to the hips with easy grip on the bank either side. “Over here, you can rest.”

“What about you? Do you not need to rest?”

“There is something else I need, and I’ll get it easier if you’re sitting down!” Liam grinned mischievously at him, wading to the shore, his hard cock pushing through the water like the keel of a boat. Once Íosác was seated on the ledge, Liam turned around and bent over, spreading his cheeks invitingly. “Do you think you can help me?”

“Oh, I think so!” Íosác grinned, eyes locked onto Liam’s winking hole. With the twin orbs of cushiony flesh pulled back, Íosác could see Liam's asshole in all its glory. It seemed that the clan's hairless battle tactics applied to this part of their body as well, allowing him to see the light pink of Liam's pucker and the ever so slightly darker red of the interior. Íosác licked his lips and gestured for Liam to come closer. "Even if you're buried in me again, I must get a closer look at this most beautiful of sights!"

"You can get as close as you want," Liam grinned at him. "I have had my fill of fucking, I want, I _need_ to get fucked!" 

“Do you not live in a village of strong, well endowed warriors?! Even without the gods’ enhancements, you are thick and long, Liam!”

“I can fuck anyone I want in the village.” Liam turned around to face him, hands on his cock now, jerking it back and forth, slowly but deliberately. “The farmers look on it as a favor from the Chieftain’s right hand and a boon to their status among the clan; the other warriors see it as a way to deepen the bonds of kinship and strength before battle, and even the newly of age men want to be fucked by me. They see my cum as a way to make them big and strong, boasting to each other about how full their asses were after I finished with them! But no one will fuck _me_ and Scotti is no longer driven wild with lust and desire. His wives sate his needs instead.”

“A troubling tale indeed, one which must have a happy ending before we march to battle!” Íosác gestured for him to come closer, parting his legs and patting his thighs. Liam nodded and approached him, the water sloshing and splashing around him as he pulled his body out of the river and slipped across Íosác's wet limbs towards his upper torso. There was a momentary pause as they looked into each other's eyes and Liam wasn't sure if he should kiss the Chieftain or not. 

They hadn't the last time, but then, there had been a reason for keeping that level of intimacy back from Íosác, not anymore. Liam leaned in, one hand slipping around the Chieftain's neck and pulling his lips onto Íosác's own. The first embrace was careful, surprised even, but then Íosác loosened up and Liam grinned against him as strong hands were placed on his back and hips, drawing them closer together. As Liam's tongue pushed across Íosác's lips and fizzled along the inside of his mouth, the warrior could feel his cock getting impossibly hard, rubbing up against Íosác's stomach. "Ah!"

"Mmh, keep going!" Íosác whispered as they parted to take a breath of air, lips tingling and faces flushed. Liam was grinding back and forth against his cock and the water made the passage much easier than he had expected. Almost too easy in fact. Íosác groaned and gripped the younger man's hips to stop him moving. "Too close..."

"Already?" Liam smirked, "And I thought I was the one who needed this release more than the Chieftain of villages dedicated to pleasing each other!"

"It was a long day's travel from early morning to late afternoon!" Íosác smiled as Liam settled in his lap and his cock went from urgently in need of release to a pleasant, smouldering desire. "But I promise to last until you can do so no more yourself!"

"I will hold you to that." Liam muttered, pecking his lips once more and then letting himself slide down Íosác's body. His tongue was sticking out and it rolled over the hard, pale, expanse of his chest, diverting to lick a swath of wetness over both nipples, the nubs of flesh hardening in the cool air that rushed across Íosác's skin as Liam's mouth drifted lower towards his tensed abs and ramrod straight cock. "This spear is very long! I do not think it will fit inside the target without some polishing!" Liam grinned and wrapped a hand around Íosác's cock, hearing him moan in response. "Yes, a lot of polishing around the head!"

 

Liam opened his mouth wide, used to sucking Scotti's monster dick, and was able to slide Íosác's cock inside without too much discomfort. He kept going until he felt the tip push against the back of his throat and closed his lips in a tight seal around the bottom third of the Chieftain's long shaft. Slowly, Liam began to pull off the cock, flicking his tongue against the underside, his lips wet and smooth as the inches of flesh were pulled out until at last, he was able to slurp and lick the head of Íosác's cock without his mouth feeling so full. The Chieftain was moaning loudly above him, one hand on Liam's hair, urging him to take his cock back inside the hot wetness, the other on his own chest, massaging the still hard nipples as Liam pushed the dick into his mouth again. "Mmh!"

"Ah, gods!" Íosác slumped back against the river bank, water sloshing around him, hips rocking back and forth as he ploughed his cock into and out of Liam's mouth. After a moment, the Chieftain went still and lowered his body slowly, grinning as he watched Liam letting the thick rod fall from his lips with a gentle splish onto the wet skin of his stomach. "Well aimed, I was very close that time!"

"I thought so." Liam grinned and wiped his face with the back of his hand, Íosác's precum a mess around his lips and chin. "I could feel your balls tighten, and as much as I want your cum in me, I don't want to waste the first spurts by swallowing them!"

"Ever wise, Liam! Ahh, wow!" Íosác groaned, placing his hand on the base of his dick and using his thumb to flick it upright, the head glistening and dribbling precum. "I will need a distraction to ensure our pleasure endures for more than one thrust."

"I have a dick too, you know!" Liam fisted his hardness and grinned at Íosác, tilting his cock upwards. "That could occupy your thoughts and mouth for a while longer."

"I had something else in mind." Íosác grinned impishly at him and knelt up on his knees so he was level with Liam bracing himself on the bank either side of the ledge. "Have you ever experienced the pleasure of having your asshole tasted?"

"Ughh, no, eww!" Liam recoiled, shaking his head. "I've had a lot of cocks and fingers and cum up there, but nothing else. It seems..."

"Wait and hear me out." Íosác said, raising his hands placatingly. "It may sound distasteful indeed, but have you not noticed how when we were wrestling around in the water my hands and fingers kept drifting into your ass?"

"I thought you were being playful!"

"And cleansing!" Íosác grinned as Liam frowned. "But worry not, for I have a...magical tongue!"

" _What?_ " Liam stared at him as the Chieftain opened his mouth and waggled it at him. There was a certain strange glimmer about the surface that made Liam frown. "Explain."

"When I was but a young lad, many Imbolcs from my awakening into a man, our village was visited by a wandering druid. She was there to take in the healing waters of our most sacred waterfall and absorb some of their power. I was a rogue of a youth, along with my friends, always playing tricks and being where I shouldn't. But my trickery caught up to me this day and while hiding in some bushes I aided my friends in calling out lewd and arousing remarks towards the druid bathing in the water."

"Oh no." Liam covered his eyes and groaned. "What happened next?!"

"The druid stood up, completely naked, and cursed me in front of my friends; magic wrapping itself around her torso like a cloth before it shot out and struck me!" Íosác spread his hands wide, gesturing at the river. "It was not immediately obvious what the curse was, at least not until I attempted to swear and found that no foul words would ever leave my throat! And though this curse has made me very irritated at times, it also came with an unexpected, and perhaps unintended, boon. We have silver plates that are only used during festival days and as I was liking mine clean I suddenly realized I could see my own face in it!"

"You have a magically scouring tongue?!" Liam stared at him and felt his hole tense at the thoughts of having someone _lick_ him there. "Truly?"

"Truly! My tongue has been cursed to always clean and be clean." Íosác smirked at him and stuck his tongue out, rolling it skilfully. "In fact, this curse has not been so terrible an addition to my clan's ways. It has become a special rite of passage when a man completes his first hunting spear and a woman has built her first fishing net to get eaten out by the Chieftain! Sometimes they even get filled first!"

"Uh, one thing at a time." Liam blinked as his cock spasmed at the images Íosác's words conjured in his mind. "Um, but that sounds like something we could try."

"Excellent! Here, take my place and you'll be more comfortable!"

 

Liam lay on his back, legs pulled up to his chest, his asshole laid bare and arms keeping his knees from rolling back down, flexed arms holding him steady on the bank. Íosác was standing in the water in front of him, grinning as he lowered his face towards Liam's hole. "The excitement is killing me, when are you starting?!"

"Soon." Íosác smirked, using his hands to spread the already wide ass cheeks further apart. Liam's hole was smooth and silky to the touch, the puckered muscular ring tensing and relaxing as Íosác's finger went nearer and nearer the opening. He paused before his finger touched the sensitive flesh and Liam groaned needily. "Easy now, it is time!" The Chieftain hunched over, submerging himself in the water up to his collarbones, the river lapping gently at the base of Liam's cheeks. Íosác moved forward, hands on the sides of the river bank to brace himself as his mouth and lips pushed into the tight crevice of Liam's ass. "Mmh!"

"Ah!"

"Oh, this will be fun!" Íosác growled, hands keeping Liam spread as wide as possible, his lips brushing up and down against the flexing ring, his mouth filled with salvia and coating his tongue in preparation for the moment. It came a second later, Íosác parted his lips and shoved his tongue forwards, pushing through Liam's tightness and into his pulsing tunnel of pleasure.

"Yaaaaaaaaa!" Liam shouted out loudly enough that the birds in the trees took off with a screech and flapped away from them. His asshole was tingling with a desire he had never felt before, sensations of heat and cold, pain and lust, all colliding together as Íosác's tongue did the work of his cock, flicking and lashing and _slurping_ at him in a way that Liam found hard to hold onto in his mind. Instead he merely clung onto his legs desperately and remembered to keep his head above the waterline as his vision blacked out and stars exploded behind his closed lids. "Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!"

"Liam!"

Íosác's urgent voice forced him to open his eyes, quick enough to watch his cock spurt long jets of cum as the pleasure Íosác had provided made him come undone without having been touched above the waist at all. "Wow! Feels so good!" He cried out, pressing his ass back down on Íosác’s flicking muscle, his hole writhing as the Chieftain used the flat of his wide tongue to lick him with noisy slurps. “Ahhh!”

"For your first time experiencing it, you actually held out a long time!"

“Uh huh,” Liam grunted, his surprise swallowed up by the feelings of pleasure and delight that swamped his body and made his head tilt back, looking up at the cloudless sky between the trees. He could feel his cock stay hard even as the spurts came to an end, water lapping at his naval, ready to wash him clean. “Will you still fuck me?”

“If you still want it?” Íosác grinned at him and reached forward to scoop up the copious amounts of cum that were spread across Liam’s heaving stomach and pecs. 

“Of course!” The warrior nodded eagerly, frowning as he looked down at what Íosác was doing. “What are you going to use that for?”

“Hmm, I have a small pot of salve in the pockets of my cloak, but it’s a bit far away and I can use what’s in front of me!” Íosác gave him a filthy smirk and cupped his hand with Liam’s cum in it, pushing his fingers into the warrior’s loosened ass, smearing the still warm substance around his rim. He didn’t wait for Liam to react, instead standing up in the water and aligning his cock with the hole, a momentary pause as he glanced up, the warrior offering a consenting nod, and Íosác thrust his long cock inside him. “Ah!”

“Ugh!” Liam moaned, arching his body and momentarily forgetting where he was, gulping down a mouthful of water in his pleasure. “Gah! Glug! Ah!”

“I have you!” Íosác whispered, pushing off the bank, his arms wrapped around Liam’s waist as he brought the warrior into the river proper. His cock was still buried deep inside the tight ass and Íosác held him tight as Liam figured out how to keep his head above water, hands gripping Íosác’s shoulders. “Haha!”

“Uh! This is crazy! But it’s so good!” Liam panted, feeling Íosác thrust repeatedly in and out of him with a rapid pace, cum and spit easing his large cock ever deeper. He used his handholds to bounce up and down on the thickness at the same time as Íosác jerked upwards. Íosác moved backwards towards the ledge, although this time he was the one facing it, allowing him to slip up onto the rock and get a better angle for them to continue fucking. 

“Ah! Uh! Oh, yes! Gods, yes!” Liam was moaning loudly now, one hand on his cock, massaging the head at the same pace that his ass was clenching around Íosác’s dick. The water was churning and frothing as they moved back and forth against each other, the warrior gazed at Íosác’s body with lidded eyes, Liam’s free hand moving down from his shoulder and slowly caressing and rubbing the Chieftain’s sooth, wet flesh. He lingered on the hard nipples that adorned each of the two muscular pectorals, angling himself forward so he could grind his cock against Íosác’s clenching abs. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“That’s it, so close!” Íosác grunted, letting his legs go limp as Liam braced himself on both banks and rode his dick relentlessly, clenching every time Íosác’s bulbous cock head reached the entrance to his ass. The Chieftain grinned as Liam arched his back and he felt his balls tingle, ready to fire his load into Liam’s ass to mingle with the warrior’s own cum. “Yes, a little more, a little harder! Yeah, Liam!”

“Uh! Uh! Uh! UH!” Liam cried out wordlessly as he felt Íosác’s dick shudder and the sensation of hot cum flooding his tight ass. The warrior slumped sideways slightly, remaining impaled, but allowing his hand to reach his aching cock as Íosác continued to fuck him slowly, Liam able to hear the squelch of the thick dick moving through his cum-filled ass as even more spilled into him. It was too much to ignore and his hand became a blur on his own cock, pointing it at Íosác’s chest and abs, his second cumshot splattering ropes of white in the space between them. “Ahhh, yes!”

 

“Who are we waiting on?” Theodric asked Stiles as they sat side by side on the low stone wall that ran around the village. “I saw Coltún and Lidia speaking with Scotti and some of the warriors as we entered, and Korey and Iordáin are unloading the cart now.”

“You were able to replicate the dish?” 

“Not I; Korey.” Theodric grinned proudly. “He left instructions on how to complete the final one with our smiths and it should be forged in the next few days. One for each clan, though without the water at the bottom, they are useless, a nice ornament, perhaps!”

“It is not water, Theodric.” Stiles shook his head and stood up. “Yeshua and I will finish the potion tonight before you and I collect the others and go to my home in the forest for, uh, our meeting.”

“If you wish to put it like that, Stiles.” The darach nudged him playfully, grinning wider when Stiles flushed. “None of us are from your clan, and you should not be worried that they will find out and your standing becomes diminished.”

“No, I suppose not.” The druid moved forward, eager to leave the conversation behind and instead smiled warmly at an older man dressed in heavy woollen tunics and carrying a fine war hammer at his side, a small band of warriors following him. “Chieftain Fionn Mac Gabhann, of the Mountain Clan, I greet you in the name of the Guardians of the Nemeton Clan and offer you the hospitality of our village!”

“You honor me, master druid.” Fionn bowed before them both. Once he had straightened up, the Chieftain gestured in the direction of the Nemeton. “Iordáin has served our clan well in representing me at these gatherings, though I wish to look upon the sacred tree one last time before we do battle with the dread sorcerer Findabair.”

“I pray that it will not be your last battle.” Theodric smiled grimly as Fionn shrugged. “In any case, we are waiting on Íosác of the River Clans to return from bathing, and Stiles assures me that the twins and their forces will be here soon.”

“Good, good, show an old man the way, will you, Theodric?” Fionn grimaced, looking at his hands and they shook uncontrollably. “I have not come down from the mountain since the raid to free Korey, and it is showing. I will not be much use in the battle to come, master druid.”

“You may yet surprise yourself,” Stiles reassured him, letting Theodric come forward to offer the Chieftain his arm. “Besides, with your tactical knowledge and more experience than any of the other young pups here, I will be relying on you for guidance.”

“You are too kind,” Fionn smiled at him, and followed Theodric down the path towards the grove. “Tell me, Theodric, how tall is the Nemeton now…”

“Hmm.” Stiles turned away from them in time to see a wet and half naked Liam and Íosác walk past him towards the roundhouse. There was an awkward pause as Korey and Iordáin finished lifting the last of the large copper dishes from the cart, before Liam moved on without a word and the hunter patted Korey’s shoulder affectionately. The druid pursed his lips, glancing to one side as Scotti approached him, Coltún and Lidia standing next to each other, both looking decidedly nervous. “You spoke with him, then?”

“Indeed,” Scotti gestured for them to move outside the village walls to where they could speak alone. “They were both quite surprised that I am…no longer as dull as I was.”

“Dull is a bit harsh.”

“There is no point in denying it, Stiles, I got caught up in my desire for the largest, most fertile clan in all the lands…” Scotti trailed off, looking into the distance.

“What’s done is done, we must move on.” The druid replied firmly. “The battle will come in a few days hence and we must all be ready. That is why I have gathered the leaders of the Alliance here; we will make our plans beneath the Nemeton’s magical boughs of protection. Findabair must not know of our strength until we meet her and her army on the field.”

“That is a good thing.” The Chieftain muttered. “Even with the support of the other clans, we will barely muster five hundred men and women. You said that your visions showed all of the northern lands were under the witch’s banner? It will not be a battle, but a massacre, Stiles.”

 _And I wish I could tell you otherwise, my friend, but the gods will use the bloodshed to empower themselves and help those left behind to defeat the risen Balor._ Stiles furrowed his brows and looked at Scotti. “The situation is not so grim; numbers alone do not a victory make. And the Fair Folk have agreed to lend us their magical might, a powerful boon for the darachs and druids among us. There are also allies that both Theodric and I can call upon that do not require the shedding of other’s blood to bring forth from the Otherworld.”

“Hmm, I suppose.”

“Take heart, Scotti! For I see the rising cloud of dust from the south that must surely herald the approach of Aiden and Éatán.” Stiles grinned and gestured down the road that ran along the outer edges of the village. 

“Stiles, I looked at our supply sheds, we will have enough to celebrate the festival of Lughnasa in two days hence, and enough to sate the needs of our guests,” Scotti paused as Stiles turned back to him. “But with the curses and the weather, I…there will be a harsh winter ahead for those who survive the battle.”

“I know,” The druid smiled as the twins came into view, riding atop a cart pulled by two horses. “That is why I reached out to our allies; the far southern territories were untouched by the heat of the sun or the daggers of ice and Aiden agreed to provision us.”

“Truly?!” Scotti looked excitedly up at the twins as they came to a stop nearby. He craned his neck and saw several more wagons following them up the road. “Greetings!”

“Greetings to you, Chieftain.” Éatán smiled at them and swung down onto the ground, gesturing for Scotti to come around to the back of the cart. “Our warriors and ourselves will not be in our villages for Lughnasa and it would be a grave insult to Lugh for the festival to pass without a true celebration! We bring bushels of wheat and barley, dozens of sheep and a herd of cattle, not to mention the finest mead in all the southern lands!”

“He looks surprised.” Aiden smirked as he listened to his brother and Scotti talk. He glanced at Stiles and touched his arm. “Master druid?”

“I only just told him.” Stiles smiled back. “Though I hope you brought more than mere food?”

“Of course, five hundred warriors march a day behind us.” The darach folded his arms as Stiles nodded in relief. “Less than three score of those are chariots, but unless Findabair has a lot of spears, they could make a big difference.”

“Agreed.” The druid gestured for them to enter the village. “The Alliance has assembled, we had better begin, once you’ve rested, of course.”

“We’re ready now.” Aiden nodded firmly and raised his arm, signalling the line of carts to follow them into the village.


	2. The Gathering at The Nemeton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter contains explicit sexual content in an era in which condoms did not exist. Please practice safe sex!

“Greetings all.” Stiles nodded in a welcoming manner as the Chieftains, druids, and darachs entered the Nemeton Grove and stood in a circle around the altar. He waited until Theodric was opposite him and they both raised their hands in unison, calling out the invocation together. “Mighty Aed, look down on your loyal followers and grant the protection of the gods for this gathering! Let no evil listen to the words we utter here and prevent our enemy from witnessing our decisions. May the power of the Nemeton protect us!”

There was a shuddering hiss that spread rapidly through the grove, an intense pressure on their ears, passing quickly as a barely visible mist washed over them and formed a dome of magical protection around the outer edges of the standing stones. Stiles smiled at Theodric and looked around at the others. “Findabair’s spies grow ever more anxious to discover our battle plans and we must move quickly to ensure that she cannot exploit our differences to gain another advantage.”

“The battle will soon be upon us, then?” Coltún asked, placing a hand on the pommel of his sword determinedly. “The soldiers of the Divide will be there when you need them, master druid.”

“Good, because that’s where Findabair will hope to push us.” Stiles looked at Íosác. “What do your scouts report?”

“The sorcerer’s skirmishing parties press along the edges of the river lands, yet each time they enter the forests, our aes sídhe allies have driven them back and fewer return to probe the defenses.” The Chieftain nodded towards Coltún and Lidia. “The battle _will_ take place at the Divide, they cannot conquer the forests, and the eastern lands are too exposed and too long a route to take. If they defeat us at the garrison of the Divide, all of the southern lands will fall.”

“Which is why we must ride out and meet their army head on.” Stiles waited for the cries of alarm and protest to die away, catching Fionn’s eye, the Chieftain nodding his agreement. “It is true that we can use the terrain to our advantage and negate the strength Findabair has by limiting their numbers through the pass. But I sense that she is expecting us to take the fortified position.”

“Because it’s the tactically correct choice!” Coltún called out, gesturing irritably. “My forefathers have never lost a battle when fighting from the fortress, why would we change that now?”

“I agree,” Theodric added uneasily. “With Íosác’s archers and all of us magic users, we can funnel them into the pass; the marsh on one side, mountains on the other, and destroy their advantage of numbers.”

“Give him time to answer.” Scotti interjected, holding up his hands for order. “I know Stiles would not suggest this course without good reason.”

“Thank you, Chieftain.” The druid smiled at his friend and stepped forward. “Guarding the Divide as we have always done when faced with a threat from the northern lands will only defeat our enemy if we do not take into consideration her unique magical powers. Findabair had strength enough to cast all our territories into endless winter, to reach out from behind the guardian mountains and weave a complex spell without even being there to see it. What fury do you think she will be able to summon when she is our presence? Will she bid the earth to rise and swallow us whole? Or command the mountain to crumble and imprison us forever? I will not take that chance.”

“We should meet her on the Plains of Cooley,” Fionn spoke up. “If we march from the Divide, we’ll have the mountains at our back, and the ocean to our left with rocky cliffs to ensure she cannot flank us.”

“That position would also give us high ground advantage if we go as far as the edge of the hills.” Coltún nodded slowly. “If we place archers along the ridge and use the chariots to drive a wedge between their infantry along the flanks, we can cut off her supply lines.”

“Hmm,” The master smith approved with a grunt. “That would leave their core exposed, enough spears and swords should force them backwards. Charge and retreat will be our tactics here; it worked well for my clan at the Battle of Dun Boyne. We’ll use the archers and magic to subdue any who try and come after us.”

“Your tactical acumen will be invaluable, Fionn.” Scotti grinned as the twins nodded their agreement. “Indeed, it will give the warriors heart to know that there is someone on the field who has actually seen battle.”

“Thank you.” Fionn replied curtly, the furrow of his brow indicating that he did not yet forgive Scotti for what had happened with Korey. The Chieftain looked back at Stiles. “Master druid, our tactics may be set, but do our scouts know the number of the enemy?”

“I have spoken to the birds and other creatures of the air.” Stiles replied after a moment. “None of them had the whole story, but enough fragments to make me feel uneasy for our chances in a direct battle. It seems as though all the northern lands have been clad in bronze and given a sword; from the youngest acolyte to the oldest crone, Findabair will unleash all of her power in order to crush us in this one battle.”

“We can do the same.” Scotti said in the silence that followed the druid’s words. “Thirty warriors might not be much, but what we lack in number, we make up for in bravery and power, right, Stiles?”

“Exactly.”

“The mountain shall commit all of its warriors and smiths, numbering less than fifty.” Fionn sighed, glancing at Korey and Iordáin standing next to him. “We have run the forges night and day since Beltaine; there are swords and shields and spears enough for five hundred warriors, though armor for less than half that. It is iron and will far outstrip what Findabair’s troops are using.”

“Bronze and copper, our scouts say.” Íosác replied to the unasked question. “And usually just their weapons; cloth and leather for their armor. She must have a lot of men at her disposal.”

“Or simply not care.” Lidia muttered, looking at Coltún. “The resources of our clan are available to the Alliance and of course, our soldiers will fight on the battlefield. We number near two hundred, if the hideous ones are allowed to serve?”

“Hmm,” Coltún grimaced, unconsciously rubbing the smooth, hard muscle of his oiled pectoral. “I suppose they could terrify the enemy from the front…very well.”

“As the aes sídhe will protect our villages from attack, all of my warriors are but a day’s march behind me.” Íosác smiled at the gathering, his eyes lingering on Liam standing next to Scotti. “Three hundred archers, a hundred spears, and a dozen swords.”

“We thank you for your aid.” Stiles bowed his head in gratitude, looking towards the twins next. “You said that your army was also some days behind you?”

“Five hundred warriors, yes.” Aiden folded his arms proudly. “Any man, woman, girl, or boy who can hold a weapon or command a chariot has been allowed to leave their village and fields and join us in battle.”

“That sounds like an army to me, Stiles.” Theodric grinned from across the grove. “Enough to push Findabair back, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” The druid nodded. “As it has been said, the forces of magic, both light and dark, will be used to bolster our warriors and I will match Findabair’s powers on the battlefield myself. We will fight on the Plains of Cooley and the witch _will_ fall!”

 

Theodric stood at the entrance to the druid’s roundhouse at the edge of the village, watching as Stiles and Yeshua finished combining the ingredients for the elixir that would go into the large copper bowls that Korey had made for them. The darach still wasn’t sure how Stiles intended to use the dishes, but he and Iordáin had distributed them to the leaders of the other clans. “Well?”

“Almost there.” Stiles whispered, brows pulled tight together as he gestured for Yeshua to continuing pouring a honey colored sap from an earthen pot. “That’s enough, now add the goat’s toe a little at a time.”

“Shredded or whole?”

“Shredded.” Stiles didn’t look up as Theodric asked the question. “The ingredients are mundane, but they form a base for the most magical of essences.” The druid moved away from the cauldron that they were heating the elixir in, walking towards the nearby shelves. They were heavy with hundreds of tiny pots no wider than two fingers, and a collection of dusty, brittle barks of dozens of trees. Stiles reached up and carefully took down a single, pale blue pot, unlike the rest. “The heart of an aes sídhe.”

“Rare indeed.” Theodric darted forward, curiosity getting the better of him as he looked into the pot once Stiles lifted off the lid. A gentle blue glow washed over his face and the darach felt his lips part, the tiny fragment inside was dancing with iridescent glitter. “Where did you get it?”

“I didn’t, Dictone did, long ago.” Stiles carried the pot over to the cauldron and waved Yeshua to one side. “Watch carefully now, my acolyte, this may be the most powerful magic you will see in your lifetime; battlefield spells notwithstanding.” 

The three of them stayed quiet as Stiles tipped the heart into the cauldron, Theo feeling the hum of ancient magic making his skin itch and hairs stand on end. There was a sudden boom and a cloud of many colors rose from the cauldron. “Is there a spell?”

“Of course, a calling to nature’s core.” Stiles whispered, his hands held over the cauldron, magic materializing on his fingers and dripping into the elixir. “ _Inis dom an ghaoth..._ ”

“Gods…” Theodric murmured, staring as the fluid turned from a frothing, dark soup into a clear, shimmering liquid. It was similar to water, but somehow, he was able to tell that it was purer than even the sweetest spring water from the highest peak of the mountain, light dancing across its surface and causing his eyes to sparkle the longer he stared at it. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know, but its beauty must be subjugated for our purposes.” Stiles looked at him deliberately. “This potion will carry the words of the Chieftains across the battlefield, but after the war is spent, you are to collect the elixir and place it into the gold flasks Korey made for me last Samhain.” 

“Why won’t you do it?”

“Then you will take this tablet,” Stiles continued to speak, ignoring Theodric’s question. “And with Yeshua’s help to balance the spell, you will turn the liquid into a life-giving draught that will keep all but the most gravely wounded from slipping into death’s embrace. Do you understand, Theodric?”

“Yes, Stiles, I understand.” The darach frowned as his friend avoided his concerned eyes and instead directed his acolyte to bring the handle for the cauldron. _So, you think you are going to die? I should have seen this coming; your extra lessons with Yeshua, the burying of the feuds with Scotti and Coltún, your acceptance to join with me and Korey and Iordáin on a regular basis…you fool, not even the gods know the future._

 

Korey looked away from their naked bodies as they languished on the large, blanket and furs covered bed, their initial foreplay complete. His eyes travelled over the dark interior of the roundhouse, pausing and lingering on the various magical and mundane objects that were placed around the single, medium sized room. Golden bladed sickles rested next to empty clay pots, faintly glowing dust nestled in small piles beside a flat wooden knife, richly embossed druidic robes hung next to a threadbare travelling cloak. Korey knew that they were in a special place, one that Stiles almost never took anyone to. 

He rolled his head back so he could study the floor. It was covered in dried rushes and the dust of seasons, but a patch of packed earth could be seen now and then through the dressing. Korey had been nervous at first, following Theodric closely as they walked across the surface of the lake, cleverly hidden stones just beneath the water formed a secret pathway out to the crannóg. The dwelling rose like a humped creature from the center of the lake, the thatched roof darker than the other roundhouses Korey had seen in the village. The structure was supported by thick wooden plies driven deep into the lakebed and was partly built on an island, which bore the rest of the crannóg’s weight.

Stiles had explained that his and Theodric’s teacher, Dictone, had the crannóg built many seasons before as a place of refuge and contemplation in the depths of the forest. They were a fair distance from the village, but Korey no longer felt fearful of the isolated location, now that things had moved from quiet greetings and awkward motions into the smoothness of sating mutual desires.

“Korey?” Theodric pulled off the smith’s cock with a wet slurp. “It appears as though Stiles and Iordáin are ready!”

“Great!” Korey grinned at him and rolled onto his side to better watch the duo. Iordáin had just finished preparing Stiles for his cock. The druid was on his hands and knees, head bent to one side on the bed, Iordáin's fingers in his raised, pert ass. The hunter probed him several times more, his other hand busy on his cock, working the long, thick shaft back and over in slow, steady strokes. But it seemed Stiles wasn't interested in taking things slow. 

"Enough, it's time to fuck!"

Korey felt his balls tighten and his cock stiffen a little more when Stiles growled his desire. Theodric was lying next to him, hungry eyes watching as Iordáin grinned and pushed Stiles down onto the bed. The covers were soft linen, not the woollen blankets that covered his own sleeping quarters, and Korey bit his lip as he watched Stiles getting lowered fully onto his stomach. 

Iordáin positioned himself behind Stiles a moment later, his cock was slick in the candlelight that cast the room into pools of brightness and shadow. Korey liked the effect it had on all of them, somehow making their bodies seem smoother and sexier, drops of sweat winding down sculpted flesh in the heat of their passion. The smith's hand was immediately on his cock, mirroring Theodric's motion, as soon as Iordáin plunged into Stiles' ass without any more teasing.

"Ah!" Stiles cried out, arching his back as Iordáin held his ass cheeks apart and pushed further inside. "Aww! Ah, yes."

"Mmh!" The hunter grunted, releasing his grip and letting his momentum drive his big cock all the way into Stiles' ass. He rocked forward, smooth naval grinding against muscular butt cheeks, his hands reaching out to balance on the soft surface and to brace himself using Stiles' shoulder. "Mmmh! Uh, yeah!"

"Ah, fuck!" Korey whimpered, sliding down nearer to Theodric so he could see Iordáin's thick dick pushing into Stiles' ass. He watched the slick shaft as the hunter began to pull out, big balls slapping loudly against flesh when his pace increased at Stiles' insistence. Korey grinned at Theodric, both of them aroused by the action that was almost within reach; Iordáin and Stiles' bodies rocking and moving in delicious motion, cries of delight and pleasure pulled from each throat. "So hot!"

"Mmh!" Iordáin agreed, adjusting his position to gain better depth inside the tight asshole, Stiles' legs bent at the knees as he spread himself as open as possible. "Oh, that's good!"

"Uh!" Stiles groaned, enjoying the slap of Iordáin's balls against the bottom of his ass, the sound of skin hitting skin, his cock dragging a trail along the soft fabric of the blanket. "Uh, fuck, yes! Harder!" He groaned, arching into Iordáin's touch when the man's hand inched closer to his neck, still gripping him tight. Stiles smirked when Korey shuffled around to see his face, flushed and red, the heat rushing down his collarbones and the back of his neck. The smith was jerking himself off in even strokes, arms flexing as his biceps bulged and chest muscles were oiled in sweat. "Aw, yes, Iordáin! Harder now! Harder than that! Make me feel it!"

"As you say," Iordáin panted, adjusting his aim and hitting Stiles in the place he needed, smiling determinedly when the druid's moans changed pitch and intensity. He clenched his own butt cheeks every time he bottomed out, driving more of his cock into Stiles' tight ass. Both his hands were on Stiles' shoulders, using them as support to power through. Stiles seemed to enjoy the pressure and extra strength Iordáin used, the druid's legs were still bent at the knee, the heels of his feet touching against Iordáin's hips from time to time. "Ah! Gonna speed up now!"

"Do it!" Stiles groaned, arching back as much as he could, eyes closed as he lost himself in desire and the burning, quickening pleasure. "Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!" He reached back to grab Iordáin's butt cheeks, desperate to have more of the hunter's big cock in his ass. The pace of their fucking was causing the bed to shake, Iordáin pounding him mercilessly now, his ass quivering, sweat pouring down his muscular form. "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Right there!"

 

Korey stopped playing with his cock around the same time Theodric did, each brought close to the edge by the sight before them. He shuffled back to lie next to the darach, both of their dicks glistening with precum, yet both unwilling to finish, knowing that they were yet to join in pleasurable union. Theodric threw his free arm over Korey’s shoulders, pulling him close to his chest, fingers trailing against the blacksmith smooth skin. “Mmh…”

“Ah! Yes, perfect!” Iordáin had settled into a more enduring pace, his hands resting on the middle of Stiles' back, cock firmly buried in his now stretched ass, rarely pulling it more than halfway out as he let his hips do the work. They were still grunting and groaning, unable to staunch the flow of pleasured noises. Iordáin paused, keeping his cock buried in Stiles' ass, he reoriented them around so Korey and Theodric had a side view. 

The hunter grinned at them and encouraged Stiles to push his ass up, knees bent to support himself, stomach still flat on the bed, though now that he was closer to the edge, the druid was able to hang off it and better angle his ass in Iordáin's direction. The hunter got into a squatting position, using his hands around the base of his thick cock to control the entry and exit into Stiles' ass. Keeping that position, he began to dip in and out with the same fast, urgent motion as before, a different set of moans coming from Stiles and the two watchers. 

"Aww!" Korey groaned, his hand back on his dick again, jerking furiously as he watched Stiles' butt cheeks ripple with each impact, Iordáin's slick cock disappearing inside his ass with each thrust. "Ugh, fuck!"

Theodric was on his back now, head raised, and legs spread apart, looking alternatively at Korey's dick and the sight of Iordáin hammering into Stiles. The hunter's hands gripped Stiles' back just above his cheeks and, once his cock was seated firmly inside, Iordáin began rocking in and out with faster and harder strokes, pulling Stiles back onto him with each movement. "Fuck!"

"Uhh, I'm close!" Iordáin called out suddenly, flipping Stiles over and pulling out of him. 

"Go on, keep jerking and cum on my face!" Stiles groaned, his hand wrapped around his own dick, smeared with precum from the vigorous fucking. Korey and Theodric gathered around him, close enough to see, but yet not intrude. Stiles kept his eyes half-closed, looking between Iordáin's thick cock and the expression of intense but pleasured concentration on the man's handsome face. 

"Uhh!" Stiles moaned, his ass clenching reflexively as Iordáin groaned once more and his cock was aimed directly at Stiles' face. The druid opened his mouth, his own hand a blur on his cock as he saw the bead of white cum seconds before it exploded from Iordáin's dick and shot over his face, an excited shout from Korey indicating that the smith was splattered with the first rope. But Stiles wasn't disappointed as Iordáin pushed his cock closer and the remainder of his quiver was painted across the druid's flushed cheeks and wet lips.

"Ah! Ah! Oh! Yes!" Iordáin moaned, cum dripping from his cock onto Stiles’ chest. He rolled his head back when Stiles sucked his sensitive cock into his mouth, tongue cleaning off the head. "Uh!"

Stiles gave the engorged cock a few more sucks, Iordáin's warm cum on his cheeks and the tingle in his asshole was enough to drive him over the edge and Stiles erupted with a yell, cum flying out of his cock and spraying across his clenching abs and flushed skin. "Ahhh!"

 

Silence fell in the crannóg, Stiles and Iordáin collapsing next to each other, hearts pounding and breathing hard, Korey and Theodric still watching them as they slowed their hands on their cocks. The smith glanced from Stiles’ cum smeared face to Iordáin’s strong arms, pumped from the exertion of their sex. He looked over as Theodric began to move away from him and smirked when the darach smiled at him and spread his legs invitingly. “Well, it’s not like _we_ have to rest…”

“Let’s go then.”

“But I-” Korey tried to speak, lips parted.

“No!” The darach shook his head firmly and pointed at Korey's dick. "I'm ready, let's go!"

"But-"

"I used the slippery potion while you were watching Stiles and Iordáin." Theo broke in, using his hands to pull his legs back and expose his slick looking hole to Korey. "See?"

"I see..." Korey mumbled, shuffling forward on his knees. He frowned and shook his head. "No, wait, uh, come to the edge of the bed. I want to stand up, I'll get a better angle that way."

"Good," Theo grunted, moving towards the edge of the bedframe, his legs still spread, needy cock drooling precum on his abs as he resisted the urge to just start feeling himself. Instead, the darach glared at Korey in an attempt to force him to speed up. "Now?"

"Now!" Korey agreed, driving his cock into Theodric without warning, knowing that the darach liked the unexpected when it came to sex. "Ugh!"

"Ah! Right there, Korey!" Theodric grinned at Iordáin when he piled the blankets under his head to act as padding and allow Theodric to watch Korey fuck him. The smith always had a determined expression that reminded him of someone trying to complete a task to the best of their ability, he found it strangely adorable. It was why he preferred to have Korey in him over either Iordáin or Stiles, and the hunter was always eager to bend over for Theodric when they were alone. His reflection was interrupted as Korey seated himself fully in Theodric's ass, his smooth body flat with the hardness of the ass cheeks. "Ugh, yes!"

"Gods, you are _sloppy!_ " Korey smirked and grabbed Theodric's thighs, pulling his legs onto his shoulders for a better passage in and out of the young man's ass. He paused for a moment, casting his gaze down Theodric's clenching stomach and along his smooth pectoral muscles until he was looking at his face, Theodric’s eyes locking onto Korey's, lips slightly parted. The smith leaned forward, pushing his cock deeper and in turn making Theodric moan, the sound captured by a feverish kiss. The moment passed almost quick enough that they could pretend it hadn't happened, and Korey resumed fucking Theodric with his familiar intensity.

 

Theodric rolled his head back, staring at the crossed wooden beams above him as Korey set a rapid pace. He was trying to avoid touching his dick in case he came too soon, waiting for the moment when Korey was close as well. Although it was hard to achieve that symmetry when Stiles crawled over to watch them, Iordáin's cum still smeared across his cheek. "Mmmh! Fuck, Korey, tell me you're close!"

"Uh, no?" The smith stared at his pleading eyes and shook his head. Korey adjusted his grip, moving his hands closer to Theodric's ankles, causing his muscular arms to bunch and Theodric to moan a little louder. "Just don't start jerking it until I say, or you'll splatter yourself in no time!"

"Hunh!" 

"Mmh, still so tight and what a perfect fit, Theodric!" Korey grunted, his hips thrusting back and forth, ploughing his cock in and out of Theodric's ass. "Hey! I said don't touch it!"

"I can't help it!" Theodric shook his head, one hand massaging his cock and the other reaching for Korey's hip, urging him closer, to go faster and harder. He kept the eye contact with the smith, though frequently broke off to sweep his gaze across Korey's well-developed body, clenching his own abs in time to Korey's pace. "I don't care any longer! Just cum in me and let me cum too!"

"Fine, fine," Korey sighed as he increased his speed relentlessly. "I suppose we do have all night and I won't be the first to fill you!"

"But you can be the one to fuck me at the end!" Theodric winked at him, his hands a blur on his cock, lips parted in an unending moan when he felt the wave of pleasure crashing over him. "UGHHH!" Theodric groaned loudly as his cum exploded out of his cock and splashed him in the face, making him blink unexpectedly. From the aroused shouts around him, the other three found the sight equally exciting and Theodric was able to clear his eyes enough to watch the remainder of his cum splodge all over his pecs, abs, and slide down his side in a seemingly unending waterfall. "UH! Oh! What? Ughhh, yeah, Korey! Now, Korey, now!"

"Like I can resist that!" Korey grunted, wrenching Theodric's hips down onto his cock and going still, his ass shuddering unexpectedly when his cum erupted inside Thheodric’s clenching tunnel. "Uhhh!" He could feel the tingling, erotic sensation of his cum flooding Theodric's ass and pushed through the load once or twice more before collapsing on top of him. Korey grinned at Stiles' raised brows. "It's your turn next, master druid!"

 

Stiles rolled off the bed, moving quietly so he did not wake the others, leaving them to the deeper rest. He clad himself in his robe and slipped on his boots, walking softly outside. There was a small area at the entrance to the crannóg, just above the water’s edge, rough hewn with wood and intertwined hazel branches. The druid stood still and breathed in the cool night air, looking up as the clouds parted and the silver disk of the moon hung in the sky. A light mist rose off the still surface of the lake, obscuring his view of the far bank. But it didn’t matter, he wasn’t actually going anywhere.

The transference was instant, a momentary pressure on his chest, and then Stiles was in the shadow realm of the Otherworld, pulled across by Balor’s growing power. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the murky forest that now surrounded him, dead leaves underfoot, silence among the black trees, a damp dew hanging in the air. The druid turned slowly, his expression neutral as Findabair emerged beside him, the sorcerer dressed in flowing white and brown linen, trails of the cloth streaming out behind her. “Findabair.”

“Stiles.” She nodded at him, but like his own, her attention was fixed on the slowly coalescing shadow in front of them. Findabair lowered her head in deference. “My lord Balor.”

“Praise to you, Balor.” Stiles added, bowing a fraction lower than Findabair. Once he straightened up, the shadow had resolved into the approximation of a man seven feet tall. In the center of the featureless face, a pulsing orange and red glow materialised. “How may we serve you?”

“It is prepared?” The voice was light and reedy, barely above a whisper, the death god using his power to simply exist in the place he should not. “The battle will be the key to my return and our dominion over all lands.”

“It shall take place in two days, near the Divide,” Stiles replied, glancing at Findabair for her acknowledgement. “I have convinced the Chieftains to bring their armies out to the Plains of Cooley where we will face off against Findabair’s gathered forces.”

“That is acceptable to me.” She agreed. “I have already collected the segments of your mortal corpse, my lord Balor, I shall have them placed at points around the battlefield. Once each has been blessed with sacrificial blood, a final sacrifice will be required to cast the spell to revive you.”

“And you will both do this?”

“I can do it alone.” Findabair bristled. “I-”

“ _I_ was the one who released our master’s spirit from the trap that bound him to the mortal world,” Stiles cut across her. “You have power, yes, but together, we can ensure nothing will go wrong and in two days hence, Balor will walk among us again and the beginning of a new era of glory and power will be upon us!”

“Very well,” The sorcerer looked at him. “How many warriors do you command? I have over five thousand coming from across the northern lands, and my own…creatures, of course.”

“Naturally,” Stiles murmured. “You will face perhaps a little over twelve hundred, but like you, I too command powers of beasts and birds, and other things of a magical nature. I will-”

“That is enough,” Balor interjected. “Do not discuss your battle plans further, for there are still those you must betray before I am reborn. Your reactions must be genuine when things do not go your way. Listen now, and I will tell you the final words of the spell…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Inis dom an ghaoth_ is Irish for "Tell me of the wind." 
> 
> A crannog (or crannóg) is a lake dwelling that is built on an island that is either natural or manmade. They are usually timber or stone built roundhouses supported on piles or stilts driven into the lake bed or the island. To access the crannog, you would take a boat, use the causeway, or take a submerged path that only the owners would know about, allowing for greater defense.


	3. The March on The Divide

Stiles pulled on the linen shirt and let the loose, comfortable fabric slide down his torso before he tucked it into the correspondingly baggy trousers. “Come, Yeshua, bring it forth.” The druid gestured towards his acolyte as Korey watched him with a frown. “We do not wear armor into battle, Korey, but nor do druids go naked to terrify our opponents as the warriors do.”

“You just wear wool?”

“Not just.” Stiles smiled as Yeshua reverently handed him the bundle. He pulled out the white robe and threw it over his head, a sensation of warmth and power filling his chest as he let Yeshua tie a woven leather belt around his waist. “This vestment has been imbued with powerful magic, blessings from the gods and enchantments woven through the fabric. It will give me the power to summon mighty forces to aid us in the battle with Findabair.”

“It doesn’t look very sturdy though.” Korey said reluctantly. “What happens if someone attacks you with a sword?”

“If someone is close enough to attack me at melee range, then I am already dead.” Stiles nodded at the table and his acolyte started handing him pouches and small bags that Stiles tied off around his belt. “A good druid or darach is able to control the flow of a fight so he does not have to confront his enemy head on. Do not worry, Korey, the greatest danger in the battle to come will be from Findabair and her monsters, not from the ordinary warriors that fight at her side.”

“That isn’t comforting!”

“Haha, I suppose not.” The druid pointed at a sheathed dagger that lay on the table nearest the door. “Give that to me please, it is the only weapon I will carry with me that has no magical value, but great, hmm, sentimental value.”

“I made this for you, last Lughnasa, right?” Korey pulled out the sharp gold blade and looked at the etchings that had been added along the middle. “No magic?”

“Just a promise.” Stiles replied shortly, accepting the weapon when Korey frowned and handed it to him. “You had better join Theodric and Iordáin, and find Fionn, I want to be certain that the arms and armor has been handed out to all those who need them. The remaining armies will join us at the Divide this evening.”

“Yes, Stiles.” Korey paused at the entrance, glancing back at him. “Are we to give Coltún and Lidia weapons too? After everything that they set in motion?”

“I sense that those grievances will be settled after the Alliance has been broken,” Stiles shrugged and sighed. “Should the gods will our victory, of course. In any event, they already left the village at first light to rally their forces and conscript all who can carry a sword, be they…beautiful or hideous!”

“I doubt the enemy will care.” Korey muttered and stepped outside.

“There, master.” Yeshua stepped back, having just attached the last hide pouch to Stiles’ belt. “You are ready for battle.”

“There is still a day of travel and preparation ahead of us, but yes, I am almost ready. Come.” The druid gestured for them to leave the roundhouse and together they walked out into the hustle and bustle of the village. Horses snorted and milled around near the central point, stamping on the now cool embers of the village bonfire, warriors fitting saddles and harnesses to their mounts. Carts of supplies and weapons were being dragged onto the road with the rest of the waiting soldiers from the four gathered clans, their bright flags and banners being raised into the air and proudly carried by standard bearers at the head of the column. 

Stiles could see Theodric and Fionn speaking near the wagons, Iordáin standing closer to Korey, both of them helping the other smiths to hand out swords and armor to the first members of Íosác’s clan that had arrived ahead of the hundreds that were promised. The druid kept walking until they were at the entrance to the path that would take them to the Nemeton grove. He reached out and stopped Yeshua from going any further. “Here will suffice, there are still things the Chieftains need to do that will occupy them for some time. Enough to give us a moment to speak.”

“What is it?”

“It should take at least seven cycles to train a druid to the point where he can practice some rituals on his own, but full training can take many cycles after that.” Stiles fixed him with an intense gaze. “I have done what I can in less than one cycle, and it will have to do. You have the tablets and the knowledge to read them, you have been trained in all the rituals to sate the needs of the gods through our festivals, and you know the signs of the birds and the beasts and the sky above to tell you when to sow and gather. But there is still so much more I wish I had the time to teach you-”

“Stiles,” Yeshua reached out and gripped his arm. “Stop talking as though you will not return.”

“We must be prepared for all eventualities, my acolyte.” Stiles sighed and shook his head. “Should the army be defeated at the Plains of Cooley, I will ensure that at least someone is able to flee the battle and return with word of Findabair’s victory.”

“Stiles-”

“No, you _must_ listen,” The druid cut across him sharply. “The Nemeton cannot fall into her hands. You will use the knowledge I have given you to cast the Shimmering Wall spell, a tablet will form at the base of the hidden tree and you to take it and crack it in two. The Nemeton will be forever concealed and not even the most powerful sorcerer will be able to undo the spell.”

“Without the Nemeton…” Yeshua paused and nodded slowly, “Where do we go?”

“South and west, towards the mountain, though stay along the river. Keep going until it empties into a lake.” Stiles lowered his voice as a group of warriors rushed past. “Once you are there, take the villagers into the forest, if the gods will it, The Dagda will provide you with shelter and safety. Do not remain here, Yeshua, Findabair will kill anyone who opposes her.”

“I, I understand, master druid. Though, I hope it does not come to that.”

“As do I.” Stiles replied grimly. “As do I, my acolyte…”

 

“There you are!” Scotti called out, gesturing at the three horses next to him. “Which do you want? Although, as I say that, I recall that Malia picked the dappled mare this morning, so-”

“I have my own mount, thank you, Scotti.” Stiles smiled and turned away, hand splaying as he called Roscoe forward towards him. “ _Dífhostú!_ ” There were cries of surprise and muted alarm when the spectral blue bear appeared suddenly in front of Stiles and Scotti. The horses backed away for a moment, before stepping forward again, less unnerved by Roscoe’s presence than the people. “Greetings, my old friend, battle calls and there’s no one I’d rather have at my side!”

“Hrrrmph!” Roscoe grunted and pushed his wide head gently against Stiles’ outstretched hand. 

The druid grinned at Scotti and climbed onto the bear’s back. “Are all of the warriors assembled?”

“Almost,” Scotti swung up into the saddle as Malia sheathed her sword and mounted her own horse. “Ciara will remain with the children, though my other wives have volunteered to join us in battle, so Yeshua will not be left alone!”

“He still has two to care for,” Stiles explained, looking back at the stony expression on his acolyte’s face. “They were struck by the sun particularly bad and will take more time to recover their strength; they can hold a sword, but not run into battle.”

“Good, good, unlike Íosác, we do not have aes sídhe allies to defend us from bandits.” Scotti muttered as he directed his horse out of the village. He paused next to Stiles and looked over his shoulder at the settlement, brows furrowed. “I hope I get to see it again, I hope this isn’t the last time I-”

“Be still, Scotti, you will see your home again.” Stiles replied firmly, nodding at the Chieftain. He urged Roscoe onwards and the bear walked through the gathered ranks of warriors and past the laden carts to the head of the column, stopping next to Liam and Íosác. “Not yet dressed in blue and lime, Liam?”

“The battle is not until tomorrow and we have a day’s travel ahead of us.” The warrior answered, looking up at him. “I think we will have enough time to prepare at the Divide, won’t we?”

“If the gods will it, we should be able to camp outside Coltún’s village and then strike out tomorrow morning towards the Plains of Cooley.” Stiles agreed, glancing on his other side as Korey, Theodric, and Iordáin arrived ahead of Fionn, their Chieftain sitting with one of the cart drivers behind them. “It seems we are all gathered. Scotti?”

“I am here, Stiles.” 

“Good, there is little point in waiting for the weather to clear, we should move out.”

“Oh, noticed that, did you?” Scotti laughed shortly, nodding at the dark rain clouds gathering further up the road. “I suppose you’re right.” He stood up in his saddle and twisted around, drawing his sword in his other hand as horns blared and banners were held aloft. “Members of the Alliance, forward!”

 

“You’re quiet.” Scotti looked at Stiles when they crossed a ford in the river that divided their clan’s land from Coltún’s. “You haven’t said much since we left the village. We’re going to win, Stiles, we have the full force of the southern clans at our backs, more druids and darachs than I’ve ever seen gathered together, not to mention the new iron armor and weapons.”

“Perhaps,” Stiles replied quietly, looking behind him as the warriors helped to push the carts across the river. “There has never been an army such as this, but then Findabair is an opponent unlike any we have ever faced. The battle will be brutal, and you must prepare yourself for losses.”

“I know, but…I don’t know how many more losses our clan can bear, Stiles, after everything that happened before.” The Chieftain sighed and shook his head silently.

“Push those thoughts from your mind, Scotti, the clan will need you to be strong, to be a true leader and guide them to victory.” The druid reached across and gripped his arm tight. “Findabair is mighty and she will have many terrible spells and creatures to unleash upon us, stand fast and show no fear, the others will take their cue from you.”

“As you say.” They continued onwards as the long line of warriors stretched out behind them as far as the eye could see until the column was lost in the bends of the road. The sun above them had been swallowed up by the clouds and rain began to fall in thick drops, splashing onto the dusty track and turning it to mud. Scotti scowled as the tingle of the water hitting the armored soldiers around him got louder, his own armor hidden under a travelling cloak. The Chieftain glared up at the dark clouds, “Can’t you do something about this?!”

“I would have thought you’d be wary of weather magic!” Stiles laughed to himself as the Chieftain grumbled under his breath. “I _could_ cast a spell and force the clouds to part, but do you really want me to spend my magical energy just so you avoid getting wet?”

“No, no, I just…forget it.”

“Good, I’ll need every drop to fight Findabair.” Stiles nodded and hitched his hood higher, pushing his face into unreadable shadows.

“Why didn’t you bring Yeshua? Surely, he could have helped?”

“Perhaps, but all clans should have a druid, Scotti, in case something should happen to me.” Stiles was looking straight ahead, his next word softly spoken. “And even if we all survive this fight, many things have changed, will have changed.”

“You speak as though you are not coming back.” Scotti frowned, concern mingling with the rainwater on his face. “Stiles?”

“Yes, even if we should defeat Findabair, if we destroy the enemy that threatens our homes, I will not return to your clan, Scotti.” The druid finally glanced at him, expression firm. “If Findabair and the Halh clan are overcome, the northern lands will be free of her tyranny, but they will also fall into banditry and despair. My father’s village is not that far from the Divide, what’s left of it, anyway. I want to return there, rebuild, grant refuge to those we have defeated.”

“We could help you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” He grinned as Scotti mirrored him. “My ancestors walked those lands for generations beyond counting, it is mine to reclaim, and finally put the spirits of the dead to rest.”

“I’ll miss you,” Scotti whispered, guiding his horse closer to the spectral bear. “But I know you’ll make a good leader, you kept my clan alive when I was…when the, err, dick-madness claimed me. And it is not so far that you cannot return for festivals, at least until Yeshua finds his feet.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a golden future.” Stiles replied, sharing a smile with his friend as the shadow of the mountain loomed over them and the army turned north. “It will not be long now until we reach the Divide.”

“Good, I haven’t ridden a horse in far too long,” Scotti winced as Malia confidently rode up beside them. “Everything hurts!”

 

Korey looked up as the warriors ahead of him slowed down, afternoon sun peeking through the clouds in the promise of a brighter evening. They had reached Coltún’s village now, the fortified walls rising above them, sharpened wooden stakes driven into the ground in an aggressive outward pattern. He turned around, waiting for Theodric and Iordáin to reach him, trying to ignore Liam’s presence nearby. The warrior had been talking with Íosác all day, but the smith didn’t even look his way once, tuning Liam out. Korey waved at Theodric and the darach gestured towards the Divide itself; a long, narrow causeway above the marshy ground around the village, leading through the pass between the mountainous hills that formed the natural border along the northern and southern lands.

“There it is,” Theodric smiled at him, placing a comforting hand on Korey’s shoulder. “Not even a half a day’s walk to the Plains of Cooley, if the gods will it, we’ll get there before Findabair’s army does.”

“Hmm.” Korey grunted non-committedly. “I’m still not sure we should be trusting Coltún and his people.” 

“Uh huh,” Theodric followed the blacksmith’s gaze, smirking slightly when it lingered on Liam instead of the other Chieftains gathered at the village’s fortified gate. “Stiles knows what he’s doing, and it looks as though he needs me. Go find the other smiths, Iordáin was unpacking the forging equipment, said Fionn wanted any final adjustments to be made before we rest for the night. There’s grindstones too, and you just know that some of these farmers can’t tell the difference between a dull blade and a cutting edge!”

“I suppose.” Korey tore his eyes away from Liam before the warrior could notice his gaze and nodded at Theodric. “That’s where I’ll be.”

“Good.” The darach watched him leave and then turned away himself, walking towards Stiles and Aiden who were standing at the edge of the makeshift camp. “A long day’s trek, hmm?”

“Indeed.” Aiden acknowledged his presence and gestured at the tents and lean-tos that were springing up along the flat area in front of Coltún’s fortifications. “It is good that we will be able to rest before the final march, both men and horses need to be fresh to face the horror of Findabair’s army.”

“How do you know it’s so horrible?” Theodric smirked.

“I-” Aiden opened his mouth to reply, but Stiles spoke first.

“We do not.” The druid glanced at each of them. “We need to scout her advance; my visions from The Dagda are indistinct, only that the hammer blow would come soon, and come here. Aiden, can you unhook several of your horses from their chariots and send out riders to see what direction she comes in? What force carries her banner? Numbers, composition, anything at all.”

“I can set some of my best riders to the task.”

“I have allies of the sky I can call on to do the same.” Theodric suggested. “A flock of birds once dead in winter’s harsh snows, now returned to life.”

“Do it.” Stiles nodded, his brow furrowing as he watched Lidia and Coltún approach him. “Then come with me. We must meet the other Chieftains at the big tent, there is still much to be done before we rest.”

 

Stiles watched as Theodric went still, his eyes closed, one hand pointing at the ground, fingers splayed, while the other was thrust upwards into the air as a loose fist. 

“ _Bailigh!_ ”

The whispered word sent shivers across the druid’s skin as black wings burst from thin air around Theodric, scores of birds flapping and screeching as they were pulled from the Otherworld into existence before him. The darach said something Stiles could not understand, and the birds flowed together into a great flock, flying outwards across the Divide and disappearing from sight a moment later. “Impressive.”

He turned away from his friend and walked towards the other Chieftains instead; Coltún and Íosác talking quietly to each other while Scotti and Fionn stood close, though quiet, and Éatán exchanged cold greetings with Lidia. “We are all gathered, I see, at least, once Aiden returns.”

“I was telling Íosác that our forces are ready,” Coltún explained, gesturing behind him at a group of three warriors. “The rest are inside the village making final preparations and saying farewell to those who are staying behind.”

“And what of the…unsightly ones?”

“They are being clad in thick leather and deep hoods.” Coltún replied to Scotti’s question, folding his arms across his bare chest. “While the curse has caused them great and terrible suffering and inflicts revulsion on all those who look upon them, they have strength in their limbs and courage in their hearts.”

“That pleases me to hear.” Stiles said, looking at the entrance to the Divide behind him. “Have you considered, Coltún, that should we defeat Findabair, her curse on your clan may die with her? That those who have been cast out for their affliction will finally be free of that horror?”

“I…I did not.”

“Perhaps you should reassure your people that their sacrifices in the battle ahead will be rewarded if victory comes our way.” The druid suggested, turning back towards the group. “A word now may stall division later should they begin to question you for casting them out, hmm?”

“I, uh, as you say, master druid.” Coltún stammered, glancing at Lidia as she nodded in agreement with Stiles. “Division would not be good for the clan after such a battle.”

“Indeed, your soldiers are strong.” Stiles moved past him and inspected the warriors standing behind their Chieftain, his next comment addressing the rest of the group. “Don’t you think?”

“Hmm, I wager they could do some damage.” Fionn nodded approvingly, eying the long, heavy-bladed spears and large, rounded shields that the warriors were carrying. “We should put them in the center column, give my smiths a core to rally around and a place for Scotti’s warriors to strike from.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Scotti agreed, looking to Stiles for his answer.

“Yes, let us speak more inside.” The druid gestured for them to follow him into the large tent that had been set up in the center of the camp. Candles had been lit in clusters around the corners and a fire was burning fitfully in the middle, smoke curling out through the opening in the folds of the canvas above them. Food and mead was laid out for the Chieftains and one of the metal bowls that Korey had crafted was sitting next to the fire, the clear liquid inside was shimmering and rippling as though touched by a gale in the otherwise still evening air.

Stiles indicated that the Chieftains should help themselves to the food as he poured himself a cup of water. “We will resume our march at first light and take tonight as our final rest and comfort before it all changes tomorrow in the clash of swords and the shattering of shields.”

“Do not be so grim, master druid,” Coltún smiled at him. “You are welcome to spend the night in my village, as are you all.” He gestured around the tent. “Warm beds, comfortable surround-”

“Have you lost your reason?” Scotti snarled at him, hand tight around the pommel of his sword. “I would not spend another night in your presence if the fate of all our lands did not rest upon it. My clan will sleep out here, and the rest of you should do the same.”

“You dare insult me?!” Coltún roared, his sword half-way out of its sheath. “Draw your swor-” 

“Enough!” Stiles called out, shaking his head warily. “We have too much to speak of and not enough time; argue after the battle…if any of us still live.” He sighed as embarrassed silence fell and Stiles walked across the tent towards the copper bowl. “Come now, and I will show you what I have seen.” The druid closed his eyes and dipped his hand into the liquid, words of power falling from his lips. The dull reflection in the bowl sharpened and resolved into clouds of smoke and fire, the thunderous sounds of marching feet could be heard faintly around them, and a great darkness seeped outwards, plunging the tent into gloom. “The vision of our doom should Findabair be victorious…”

 

Korey finished adjusting the straps on the shield and handed it back to the waiting warrior. He leaned against the table as the sounds of hammers rang out around him, muttered conversations about the quality of the different clans’ metals, the satisfying hiss of freshly forged blades quenched in water. The smith was about to stand up and resume working when Liam stopped in front of him. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Korey.”

“I thought you weren’t wearing armor?” Korey asked as he picked up a nearby mail shirt and handed it to another warrior. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to get my sword sharpened!” Liam smirked suggestively at him and tugged on the bulge at the front of his trousers. 

“I can’t help you.” Korey replied after a moment of glaring at the warrior. “Talk to Oisin if you want; he has the grindstone.”

“I meant-”

“I _know_ what you meant.” Korey snapped, shaking his head. He took a breath and then looked over at Liam’s guilty expression. “Do you have legitimate need? Or are you here to joke about what can never again be?” 

“Scotti wants his armor.” Liam muttered, dropping his eyes. “I said I’d get it for him and help him put it on tomorrow.”

“Oh, come here then.” The smith gestured, and Liam followed him away from the forge and anvil towards the carts. Korey frowned for a moment, before nodding and pulling out a finely embossed iron helmet and heavy shirt of iron links. “Here, hold out your arms. So, let him wear the padded clothes that he did today and then place the links over it, and a cloak over that. The helmet fits with or without the straps, whatever he finds more comfortable. Scotti has the sword, but make sure he brings the javelins into battle with him too, and the shield I made for him last winter should still be sturdy enough to use.”

“I…I think I understand.” Liam shifted the weight around in his arms. “You know a lot about weapon-smithing, huh?”

“My time among the Mountain Clan has not been wasted.” Korey shrugged and gestured for them to return. “If your sword really does need to be sharpened, your _metal_ sword, then hand it over and I’ll get it done.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll send a runner with it once it’s complete.” Korey replied, accepting the blade and frowned at the notches along the edge. “What have you been doing with this? Hitting rocks?”

“Practicing.” Liam huffed as the smith hid a smirk. “I’ve never been to war before, remember?”

 

“The ridge here will provide cover for the archers to advance,” Íosác said, pointing at the rippling reflection of the Plains of Cooley as seen from a bird above the ground, the magical image contained within the copper basin. “Now, if we-”

“The riders have returned.” Aiden cut across him, entered the tent in grim silence as a single, undead bird flittered past him and settled on Theodric’s shoulder. “Their news is not good.”

“How many does Findabair command?” Stiles looked up from the bowl. “Two thousand? Three?”

“At least twice that many, if not more.” The darach sat down next to his brother, sighing heavily. “My scouts saw campfires burning from the shores of the ocean in the west to the strangling depths of the forest many leagues away. It is a massive force, unlike any we have ever seen!”

“My birds confirm it.” Theodric spoke after the bird sitting on his shoulder vanished in a puff of black smoke. “If it is several leagues wide, it is at least a league deep, and at the center of the host, Findabair has ripped open a doorway into the Otherworld, from which she is calling forth monsters the likes of which I have seen only in my darkest dreams. This is not an army we can beat, Stiles.”

Silence greeted the darach’s words and the Chieftains looked to Stiles for an answer, fear and despair creasing their faces. Finally, Íosác wetted his lips and asked the question that was heavy on their minds, “What do we do, master druid?”

Stiles had clenched his hand into a fist and stared at it while the others spoke. Finally he looked up and matched each of their eyes with a steely gaze. “We will still fight, we will still take the field and face Findabair head on. If we do not, if we scatter and flee back to our villages, she will come for us like the tide. And much like the great waves that churn the ocean depths and crash upon the shore, Findabair will crash upon us all, one by one, until the southern lands are under her spell, and the Nemeton fuels her power to unassailable heights.”

He took a breath and stood up straighter, hands held up in front of him. “We have gathered all our allies and all our soldiers that we can muster, but where Findabair is the sole sorcerer among her army, we have five such powerful magic wielders. It is our turn to show that the might of the southern lands is not contained solely in the strength of our iron and the thrust of our spears!”

“We do have power,” Éatán murmured quietly, looking at him. “Have you encountered the World Breaker spell, Stiles? It needs two powerful druids to cast and could aid us greatly in the battle.”

“I have knowledge of that spell, yes,” Stiles nodded. “The veil between the Otherworld and this one is thin on the Plains of Cooley; many great battles were fought there between the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Fomorians in ancient times. It will not be difficult to spill its power into our realm.”

“The women of my people have long carried a terrible and devastating weapon within them that I can unleash on our enemies, master druid.” Lidia spoke up. “The Death Scream could turn the tide against the human forces Findabair commands.”

“I have heard tell of this,” Theodric exchanged a glance with Stiles. “It is a scream which pierces iron and hide and even flesh, blood-curdling and terrifying, a powerful weapon indeed. And if we are to unleash such secrets of the darkness, I will call upon the Revenants to fight alongside us!”

“Would that not require a blood sacrifice in the hundreds to raise enough warriors to be worth it?” Aiden frowned at him, glancing over his shoulder at the Chieftains who had huddled together, discussing their armies’ strategies quietly. “I know that each Revenant fights with the strength of ten men and the valor of a great champion, but-”

“I have a shortcut that will need only the shedding of my own blood.” Theodric broke in, smiling at them. “I do not know how many will come through; perhaps a dozen, perhaps several dozen, either way, I call upon all our clans’ ancestors to come and fight for us.”

“That could be a powerful force,” Stiles agreed carefully. “But I will still need you to be able to fight, Theodric, do not shed too much blood.”

“Very well, but I-”

“Greetings!” 

“Ah!” Theodric jumped backwards as Nolan and Macen materialised in the middle of the tent, the aes sídhe bowing gracefully to the gathered Chieftains, druids, and darachs, his top-heavy, overly ornate golden crown teetering precariously until Macen reached forward to hold it up. “What are you doing here?”

“The druid called for an alliance, and here we are!” Nolan beamed at them.

“Our forces will arrive by dawn.” Macen added, standing behind the Fairy King with his hands still on the crown as it bobbled back and forth with Nolan’s expressive movements. “We have convinced the other aes sídhe kingdoms to provide support and five hundred of our finest butterfly riders will charge into battle with you.”

“All of us must work together to defeat the evil of Findabair!” Nolan proclaimed proudly. “If her darkness prevails here, no longer shall we frolic in the meadows or dance under the moon or sleep in the warm comfort of a woolly sheep!”

“What?!” Theodric barked before Aiden nudged him hard in the ribs.

“We thank you for your aid, and I would be glad to fight alongside you in the battle to come.” The darach nodded and looked at Stiles, “With these allies and our magic, we may yet claim victory.”

“If the gods will it.”

“Let us pray that they do, then.” Scotti said as he and the other Chieftains turned to look at the group. “We have agreed to the strategy laid out by Fionn; Éatán will take the chariots along the left flank to drive the enemy towards the middle. Then Fionn, mine, and Coltún’s armies will clash against them there, charge and retreat under the cover of the archers on the ridge behind.”

“With the aes sídhe and the rest of our warriors, Aiden, Liam, and I should be able to break the right flank,” Íosác added. “That leaves you and Theodric to strike where you are needed, Stiles.”

“Good. It is settled.” Stiles pointed at the copper bowl next to him, Nolan and Macen staring at its rippling waters in entranced awe. “I will have these distributed before the battle begins; use them to co-ordinate our attacks and keep in communication with the other flanks.”

“We have a long day ahead of us,” Scotti looked at the other Chieftains and nodded at the tent’s entrance flap. “Have some food, some comfort, rest if you can, for tomorrow, we ride to war!”

 

Stiles stood on the edge of the path, looking out across the rolling hills and verdant valleys of the northern lands, the Divide just behind him. The night was clear, stars bright in the velvet sky, the moon a silver disc above him, and a sense of peace washed across the druid as his eyes lingered on the hill that obscured his vision of his ancestors’ village. They had prepared as much as they could, allies called from across the southern lands, plans and strategies in motion, his secrets a single day from being revealed. 

The druid felt a twinge of guilt that he had not confided in the others about the true purpose of the battle and the plot to pull Balor back into the world only to cast him into the depths once more with the gods’ aid. Theodric had not mentioned it since Stiles was forced to tell him, though he had noticed the darach’s eyes lingering on him more and more.

The druid stiffened when he heard approaching footsteps and turned slightly, relaxing once he saw Gaibriél raise his hand in greeting. “So, you made it.”

“I said I would be here.” The hunter of men stood next to him and held out a tear-shaped amulet with a gem of deep orange at its center. “As you requested, master druid.”

“You exceeded my highest expectations!” Stiles grinned, his eyes twinkling as he took the jewel from Gaibriél’s hand. But then he frowned and grasped the hunter’s wrist. “You were burned?”

“Argh, yes.” He scowled, but let Stiles push up the sleeve of his tunic to see the extent of the injury. “I followed your instructions, but forgot that I still was wearing my torc, I managed to twist it off before I was burnt completely!”

“Hmm, an acolyte’s mistake!” Stiles smirked at him and whispered a healing spell. “There, you should be fine now.”

“Thank you.” Gaibriél ran his fingers over the smooth skin and frowned at him. “But shouldn’t you be resting for tomorrow? Conserving your strength?”

“The veil between our world and the Otherworld is thin here, I can cast such minor spells without any effort.” Stiles replied, holding up the amulet so it caught the moonlight and refracted in a rainbow on his face. “This is the Tear of Airmed, captured by an ancient druid and imbued with the grief of all she suffered; from the killing of her brother by her father, to her father’s cruelty and the destruction of her herbal lore.”

“What will you do with it?”

“Only use it if Findabair defeats everything else I have in store for her.” Stiles smiled wanly at him and tucked the amulet away under his robes. “You should rest, Gaibriél, it almost dawn and the battle will start soon.”

“I would rather spend these last few moments with you, Stiles.” He looked at the druid. “If you’ll have my company?”

“Of course.” They lapsed into comfortable silence as the mist spread out ahead of the slowly moving torches of Findabair’s army in the far distance, the sky turning violet and pink in the east as the sun began its rise.

 

Liam nodded confidently at the warriors standing next to him in a line, their bodies decorated with colorful lines and patterns, warpaint weaving across toned muscle and bare skin. He gripped his sword in one hand and hefted his shield in the other as the group stretched and talked amongst themselves, waiting on the ridge above the Plains of Cooley, Findabair’s army only now coming into view. 

As Scotti had told him the night before, the host was vast indeed, stretching as far as the eye could see in any direction. Liam heard the warriors grow silent and fear lanced through the air when the enemy got ever closer. Swallowing hard, the warrior looked to his right and saw Korey standing next to Iordáin and the other smiths. He was dressed in iron links and a plumed helmet that made him look noble, holding a fearsome looking war hammer in his hands. Liam smiled his way and Korey nodded back, his expression one of grim determination. 

Scotti was nearby, sitting on his horse next to Malia and Stiles, Theodric riding up to join them. The Chieftain nodded at him and Liam turned to face his warriors. “Is this a funeral or a battle?! Sound the horns!”

The low, groaning bellowing noise rent the air as a dozen different horn players began to blow into the instruments, echoing across the battlefield as the other clans followed his lead. Liam bashed his sword against his shield and walked back and forth along the line until all the warriors were copying him and the wall of sound drowned out the approach footsteps of Findabair’s army. 

“Good,” Stiles grunted, nodding approvingly as a warrior rode up behind them, a pole topped with a large, fluttering banner held in her hands, a black tree representing the Nemeton on a field of green. The morning had been bright and airy, a light wind blowing enough to keep the flags and banners aloft, though now that they reached the Plains of Cooley, darker clouds had rolled in and rain began to fall, tinkling against the iron armor that clad the warriors behind them. “It is almost time.”

“I can see that.” Scotti swallowed nervously and shared a glance with Malia as they watched Findabair and three others move forward to the middle of the field between the two armies. Both sides were shouting and blowing horns, bashing their weapons on shields, or just roaring with savage voices, the Chieftain turned to Stiles, shouting over the din. “What now?”

“It seems Findabair wishes to speak before we fight.” Stiles nodded at Roscoe and the bear walked forwards, Scotti, Malia, and their standard bearer following him down the ridge and across the grass until they were in front of their enemy. “We meet at last in person, Findabair, dread sorcerer!”

“Druid.” She replied, her long, white dress spilling down across the flanks of the large, spectral wolf. Her hair was flowing in the wind, a thick silver torc wrapped around her neck gleamed with an unnatural power, clever, green eyes watching him. “And Scotti too, though news of your big dick had reached the northern lands, I understand that you have finally seen the error of attempting to cross the gods!”

 _How ironic._ Stiles took a breath and looked at the two men behind her, both dressed in fine clothes of many colors, their fingers dripping with rings and fine jewels, gold cloth and gemstones woven into their cloaks and set into their swords, evidence of richly rewarded servitude. “You must be the Halh clan, responsible for the Red Rains and the change in the werewolves?”

“They are, but it is I who took the werewolves from the tame house wolves that march at your side, Stiles,” Findabair answered for them. “And it is I who turned them into the strongest of feral werewolves. Look upon my army and tell me you do not see your doom in their glowing blue eyes!”

One of the Halhs, the younger, glared at them, his eyes turning to bright cobalt as the other stared at Malia, his brow furrowed, a slow pulse of red infusing his eyes. Eventually the elder Halh spoke. “You, woman, I know your face.”

“Perhaps.” Malia whispered, averting her gaze and staring instead at the pommel of her horse’s saddle. “I was a slave in the north, fled from my home when my father turned into a monster.”

“You-” The flash of recognition was dampened by Findabair’s suddenly raised hand and her demands filled the air between them.

“You will surrender to me, Scotti, your forces will disperse, and I will allow you to leave these lands once I gain control of the Nemeton.”

“That will never happen.” Stiles growled, glaring at her. “We refuse.”

“Agreed,” Scotti shook his head firmly. “You’ll never step foot inside the southern lands!”

“Very well, war it is!” Findabair barked and flicked her head to the side, the spectral wolf carrying her back to the army. The older Halh hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on Malia before he also turned his horse around and galloped back to their lines.

“Come along, it is about to begin.” Stiles called out, urging Roscoe to race back to their army. “Prepare yourselves, this will be a battle unlike anything you will ever witness!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dífhostú_ means "Awaken".
> 
> Ciara is Kira.
> 
>  _Bailigh_ means "Gather" or "Collect".
> 
> Airmed was a member of the one of the Tuatha Dé Danann and a greater healer and keeper of herbs.


	4. The Hellstorm of Findabair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please be advised that there are graphic depictions of war and battle in this chapter, including several scenes of a strong gory nature.**

Horns were blaring, horses screeching, voices calling out battle chants and insults, the clamour of swords being bashed against shields and spears thudding into the ground caused Korey to tremble as he stood next to Iordáin. The hunter hadn’t moved since they arrived, standing still, quiver on his back and bow held loosely in his hand. His eyes surveyed the battlefield, calling out distances to the runners next to him who dashed back and forth, directing the rows of Íosác’s archers towards the most vulnerable portions of Findabair’s army. “Do you-”

Korey’s question was overwhelmed by the sudden crash of thunder rolling overhead and lightning arcing down on the enemy’s side of the battlefield. He looked over and saw Stiles standing in front of the army, his hands thrust upwards, lips moving as he cast the spell. The very clouds themselves twisted and swirled at the druid’s command, boiling and rolling into deep black and purple, flashes of lightning and torrents of rain washing down over Findabair’s army.

This didn’t seem to intimidate them however, Korey could see the glowing eyes of the ranks of feral werewolves snarling their defiance as the human warriors next to them replied to the Alliance’s armies with their own war chants and loud blasts from their horns. The smith wetted his lips and hefted his war hammer at the same time Fionn did, the Chieftain thrusting the spiked head into the air.

“Archers! Draw!” Iordáin called out, notching an arrow to his own bow string. “Ready…”

“Give them a volley!” Fionn shouted, watching as the twins’ chariots rushed forward along the left flank nearby, led by Éatán. The pounding of the horses’ hooves made Korey wince and close his eyes, the earth shaking around them as a whistling rain of death flew overhead. When he looked up, the smith was able to track the falling arrows, grimacing as they skewered the enemy. “Fire at will!”

“Right flank, prepare to charge!” Aiden roared from his other side, the Fair Folk manifesting out of thin air next to him. Their butterfly mounts fluttered brightly amid the rain, glistening gossamer threads falling behind them in an illusion to confuse and dazzle. Korey blinked as his eyes told him there were three times the number of aes sídhe as there should be. Aiden raced past him, the Fair Folk following their king, Nolan, as he charged forward with an excited cry in a language Korey didn’t understand, a golden sceptre held in both hands. For a moment nothing happened and then an explosion of blue fireballs cascaded outwards, rushing in front of the aes sídhe and smashing into the unsuspecting feral werewolves that were themselves running forward to meet the attack.

“Korey!” Stiles’ voice was indistinct, and the smith turned to the copper bowl placed next to him, the druid’s scowling expression as clear as though Stiles was standing front of him. “They are about to charge, keep safe and stay next to Iordáin, I will see you when this is over!” 

“I understand, Stiles.”

 

Scotti charged forward, flanked by his warriors and allies, grim-faced smiths wielding spiked hammers and heavy swords on one side, the long spears of Coltún’s soldiers on the other. Their pace increased as they sprinted down the ridge, rain pelting them as Stiles’ control of the storm above blinded the first ranks of their enemy. Scotti felt his blood pound in his ears, heart hammering as the moment to first contact approached rapidly. All the things he had yet to do, the people he wanted to spend time with, the children he had left behind, it all came flooding into his mind and the knot in his stomach tightened. 

“Yarrrr!” A smith next to him shouted loudly, adding her fury to their charge. A second voice joined her, and then another, and another, until the mass of warriors were screaming their anger and hate at the enemy.

“ATTACK!” Scotti cried out, feeling his fears being swept away as the rush of battle overwhelmed him and he pointed towards the warriors and werewolves of Findabair with the god-forged sword, _Ceartas._ “Kill them all!”

Scotti rocked backwards as their charge was abruptly stopped, the warriors around him clashing hard with the enemy. He ducked an enthusiastic swing from one of Findabair’s soldiers and thrust his sword into the man’s stomach, retching at the sight of the blood and spilling organs as he pulled the blade back out. But Scotti didn’t have time to rest, another attack coming from his left. This was a feral werewolf, a man naked from the waist up, animal pelts hiding his crotch, long claws tearing through one of the smiths, his eyes glowing with an intense blue. “Ah!”

The Chieftain danced backwards, swinging wildly and killing two more of the enemy as the werewolf advanced. He raised his shield in time to block the first attack, hearing the scratching of the claws against the wood even over the din of the joined battle. “Hah!” Scotti thrust his sword forward as he wrenched his shield to one side, slicing open the werewolf’s thigh and forcing it back. His lips parted in surprise as the wound healed before his eyes. “What magic is this?!”

“Don’t you know, house-wolf?” The monster snarled, attacking again. “Rawrr!”

“Get back!” Scotti was ready this time, swapping his sword for a long spear that lay on the muddy ground next to him. He grunted and drove the weapon forward, impaling the werewolf on the point, ripping a wet hole through his torso. Scotti backed off as the werewolf lashed out wildly, reaching for his sword. Before he could land the killing blow, Coltún dashed forward and twirled his sword in a wide arc, cutting the monster’s head off and grinned at Scotti.

“You look like you’ve never been to war, Chieftain! Hargh!” Coltún snarled and ducked another attack, this time aided by Scotti, the two of them managing to kill the warrior with several slashing blows. “Good to see that time spent fucking everyone that moves has left you nimble at least!”

“What are those things?” Scotti asked, ignoring Coltún’s jibe and circling around to stare at the headless werewolf. “I know what Stiles said, but they are terrible to behold!”

“No time to rest in the middle of battle, Chieftains!” Fionn called out as he smashed his war hammer into a group of warriors, their bones breaking loudly. “Plenty more to kill!”

“Let’s go!” Scotti agreed, picking up his shield and grabbing another spear. “This way!”

 

Stiles frowned as he watched the course of the battle, thunder rolling across the skies as horns continued to sound and the clash of bronze on iron echoed around the Plains of Cooley, screams of the dying lost among the chaos. The two sides were joined now; bloody skirmishes breaking out along the line, the cavalry charge led by Éatán’s chariots had carved a devastating furrow through Findabair’s left flank and forced more of her warriors towards the center. The druid was returning back to the ridge now and Stiles could feel the tendrils of magic gather around him as Éatán prepared to cast the World Breaker spell. “Not enough blood yet.”

“Hmm?” Theodric glanced at him, also staying back, though his attention was focused along the ridge at the point where Korey and Iordáin were standing with the archers. “What was that?”

“Not enough blood has been spilled to awaken Balor.” Stiles nodded at the right flank, “The aes sídhe are holding, but not doing enough damage. It is time to call forth your Revenants, Theodric; an unliving host will not contribute to Findabair’s spell but will spill the blood to power it.”

“May Donn take you if you are wrong about this, Stiles.” Theodric muttered darkly, but he stepped forwards, moving half-way down the ridge. The darach pulled out his dagger, the silver blade flecked with dark splotches of old blood. “Spirits of the ancient world, ancestors of our clans, champions of valor, I call on you now in desperate need! Come forth and aid us in this battle!” Theodric plunged the dagger into his chest and grunted at the impact.

“Theodric!” 

“Fear not, Korey, I will live.” He shouted out as the terrified yell came from behind him. The darach raised his hands and let the blood flow outwards from the wound, coating his arms and the dark wool of his robe until the grass at his feet was wet with blood. Just before a mortal amount of the vital essence had drained from his body, Theodric thrust his arms into the air and shouted out with all his might, awakening the Revenants he could feel gathering around him. “ _Dífhostú!_ ”

A chorus of red clouds exploded behind him, white steam rushing off the breach in the air that his spell caused and enveloping the darach for a moment. His wounds were healed suddenly, and his dagger was back in his hand as the dozens of undead soldiers shambled forwards, clad in broken armor and clasping blood-stained swords. Theodric took a deep breath and pointed at Findabair’s army. _“Iad a mharú!_ Revenants! Slay the enemy, leave no survivors!”

 

Stiles nodded with satisfaction when Theodric joined Korey and Iordáin on the ridge, the trio leaving the archers behind and charging towards the battle on the heels of the darach’s undead army. He glanced to his left when Éatán returned, slipping from his chariot to stand next to Stiles. “Difficult to ride so gracefully in a robe.”

“Easier when one is wearing leather armor underneath.” Éatán grinned at him and lifted the hem of his vestments to show off the boiled leather pads around his knees. “How fares the battle? Are we winning?”

“Hard to tell.” Stiles muttered, watching with a grimace as the center column began to collapse, Scotti’s position getting overrun, the Chieftain visible as he retreated towards Coltún’s hardier warriors. He lifted his gaze further and locked onto where Findabair was located. She, like him, was standing back from the battle, watching the flow with her two werewolf Chieftains, the Halh men directing their warriors from horseback. “I feel that Findabair has yet to unleash her most devastating weapons; the corrupted monsters she was summoning last night.”

“It looks as though she preparing to channel something.” Éatán squinted in the distance and then looked over at Stiles, seeing the other druid glowering at the sorcerer. A moment later, lightning struck the ground near Findabair’s position, several strikes in quick succession, some glancing off a magical barrier that shimmered around her when the lightning cracked against it. Éatán turned his attention to the sky when the thunder got louder and louder. “What’s happening?!”

“She is trying to wrest control of the elements from me.” Stiles growled, the strain evident on his face as he spread his arms and clenched his fists. A visible aura of blue energy began to hum around him and Éatán stepped back, his jaw slackening when a pillar of the blue fire shot upwards from Stiles’ body and was absorbed by the swirling maelstrom overhead. “Ugh, that took much of my strength.”

“Oh no,” The other druid pointed across the battlefield to Findabair, spotting that she had adopted a similar stance, but it was a verdant green pillar of fire that lanced into the clouds. “Will your spell hold her off?”

“Perhaps.” Stiles grunted, hands on his knees as he sucked air into his lungs. The druid looked up at the sky after catching his breath, watching a churning mass of red and orange clouds turning in the opposite direction to his own spell. A moment later, the two storms clashed, and the heavens echoed with booming thunder and terrible flashes of blue and green. Stiles’ lightning continued to assail Findabair’s warriors and crash down randomly across their side of battlefield. But now it was joined by a rain of fireballs, each larger than a cart and smashing into the ground in great gouts of flame and deadly showers of stones and metal. “We should leave this position.”

“Yes,” Éatán grunted, staring in horror as his brother’s aes sídhe allies were suddenly under sustained attack, several of them vanishing in the broiling smoke that followed the fireballs’ impacts. He turned to follow Stiles, but both druids stopped dead when a whistling sound arced overhead and they looked at the archers scrambling for cover. The fireball hit the ridge with a blow that could be heard across the battlefield, a huge explosion of earth and rock was thrown into the air, accompanied by the bodies of dozens of unfortunate archers. “Gods!”

“She is killing her own just frequently as ours.” Stiles called out, gesturing for Éatán to follow him across to the remains of the left flank, screeching horses and splintering wood signalling the destruction of the chariots. The sounds of the waves crashing against the cliffs nearby was barely audible over the din of the battle in front of them. “Here, this will do. Are you prepared to cast the spell, Éatán?”

“We can reseal the breach once the battle is over.” The druid nodded and walked away from Stiles towards the water. He stopped when he was twenty paces from him and held his arms outwards in Stiles’ direction, as though he was trying to hand him an invisible vase. “I am ready.”

“Good.” Stiles concentrated, gathering the reserves of his magic. He could feel the currents of energy wrapping around his body in preparation for the spell. Unlike many others that he knew, this did not require words of power to cast, only the right balance of magic and a willing druid to aid him. “Now!” Stiles thrust out his hands in Éatán’s direction, feeling all his power drain into the spell and fly through the air in an invisible stream. It was met halfway across by Éatán’s magic and the two streams merged for a moment before a massive shockwave washed across the battlefield. 

A ripple lanced through the air and once Stiles had picked himself up off the ground, he could see the shadowy protection of the Veil fall away and the raw magical power of the Otherworld bleed out into their world. The druid took a deep breath, feeling his magic instantly replenished and buffed, Éatán looking similarly refreshed. Stiles glanced behind him at the angry red wound that now hung in the air, a sprawling green forest and distant hills where the ridge should be. The obtuse geography of the Otherworld shifted and changed before his eyes, but Stiles had no time to study the places it wanted to take him. Instead, the druid dropped to his knees and smashed his hands into the ground. “Behold the might of the druids!”

 

Korey grabbed Theodric’s arm in alarm as the ground beneath their feet began to tremble and quake, great fissures and pits opening up around Findabair’s terrifying monsters. No longer were they facing mere werewolves and brave warriors, but now the sorcerer’s fearsome beasts had made themselves known; black and spiked, webbed feet and eager, hungry mouths filled with sharp teeth, they cavorted forward and back, a deadly dance that left more of the aes sídhe dead at every turn. Suddenly, the creatures were stumbling backwards in fear, retreating from them. “What’s happening?!”

“The World Breaker spell has been cast.” Theodric called out as he directed a Revenant to defend Iordáin. “The magic of the Otherworld is seeping through, providing massive power boosts to the druids and darachs.”

“Won’t that help Findabair too?” Korey asked, turning around to smash down an approaching warrior with his war hammer. “Yarr!”

“In time, but she is not like us, our magic is different. It is a desperate move,” Theodric admitted, waving frantically at Iordáin to join them as his undead soldiers were struck down by an airborne fireball. “But if we do not defeat her monsters, we’ll never get to Findabair herself. Iordáin, watch out!”

“What-No!” Korey cried out as he saw the hunter twirl through the air, a monstrous werewolf having slashed a deep wound across his face. Together with Theodric, Korey dashed across the battlefield, smashing aside any that stood in their way. The darach released a howl of rage and crossed his arms in a violent movement. The attacking werewolf blinked at him and a moment later was ripped asunder by barely visible skeletal hands, blood exploding onto Theodric’s face and bone fragments pinging off Korey’s armor.

“Let me see him!” Theodric crouched next to Iordáin’s unmoving body and placed his hand on his lover’s forehead. His face was a scarred ruin, handsome features lost in the brutal attack, muscle exposed and wet with blood, the white of bone where none should be visible made Theodric’s stomach roll in disgust. 

“Is he? Is-gah! Get back!” Korey roared his upset into his next attack, whirling the war hammer over his head and bringing it down to crush the torsos of the warriors who tried to attack them. The smith breathed heavily and turned back to Theodric, seeing the darach’s head bowed and tears wet on his face. “He can’t be dead! You can heal him, can’t you, Theodric?!”

“Not with all the power in the Otherworld, I do not have the knowledge.” The darach reached out and closed Iordáin’s eyes gently. Once he stood up, Theodric’s face was grim. “Only Stiles could have healed so terrible a wound, but he is far across the battlefield and we could not have moved Iordáin.”

“No! But…No!” Korey cried out, distraught. He was shoved roughly to one side as Theodric intercepted the blow meant for him, the darach setting the werewolf on fire as claws slashed along his arm. The smith shook himself out of his grief and lunged forwards, using his war hammer to batter his way into another group of Findabair’s monsters, letting rage take over. “ARRRH! You’re all going to die!”

 

“Coltún! Look out!” Lidia shouted at the Chieftain as he managed to dodge a spear thrust and instead gripped the shaft, pulling the warrior into range of his sword. She turned away as another group of the seemingly endless warriors tried to out-flank them. Lidia drew a deep breath and then released it in a wordless scream. “Yeeeeeargh!” A wave of almost invisible energy rippled outwards and caused the men nearest her to explode in meaty bursts while those further away were tossed head over heels like leaves in a gale. 

She grasped Coltún’s arm and helped him upright as he grimaced at a long wound across his rippling abs, the Chieftain opting not to wear armor like the others. “We must regroup with our warriors, we’re out of position!”

“I know.” Coltún grunted, spotting Liam fighting nearby. The naked warrior’s eyes were glowing yellow and his warpaint was splattered with blood as he cut a deadly swath through the enemy. “Find us a way back to our warriors, I’ll help the others here until you do.”

“Be careful, my vision of your death seems so close to reality now.”

“Comforting.” Coltún grunted and speared a feral werewolf with a strong thrust forward. Íosác whirled past him, using his own spear to jab and skewer enemies in a series of complicated moves, the human warriors crumpling under his weaving, graceful attacks. The Chieftain watched in half a daze, broken out of it, by the screeching of more of Findabair’s monsters appearing to his left. “Is there no end to it?!” 

 

Stiles moved across the battlefield with purpose, his magic crackling in the air behind him like a lightning cloak, zapping any who tried to intercept him. The power draining into the Plains of Cooley from the Otherworld was like a river that never ran out of water. He could see the other druids and darachs fighting with renewed strength, the effects of their spells and enchantments visible from far away; great clouds of healing green mist, the impacts of magically gathered rocks raining down on their enemies, the rush of flames as walls of fire encircled feral werewolves and burnt them alive.

The druid grimaced as he passed the piles of the dead, massive casualties inflicted on both sides; blood stained the grass red, the stench of death and fear and grievous wounds was all around him. Broken spears and shattered shields lay in a circle about a group of Findabair’s monsters, their black claws clashing together in a gripping motion as one, larger than the others, finished pulling the spine from one of Éatán’s chariot riders, the wet collapse of meat and gore on the ground made Stiles retch, backing off. “Bah!”

“Bring spears! We’ll charge them from behind!” Éatán called out, waving frantically at his warriors nearby. The druid grabbed the closest weapon and held it out aggressively as the monsters turned their attention on him. “Hurry!”

“Leave this to me.” Stiles said, catching Éatán’s attention and raising his hands to eye level. Remembering the spell that had served him well against the bandits on the road back to Scotti’s village, Stiles lashed out suddenly. “ _Vat na!_ Findabair’s minions were instantly vaporized, nothing but ash floating on the wind after his attack winked out their lives. “And now be used for something greater!” The druid weaved his hands around in a complicated pattern, green light ghosting in front of him as Éatán and his warriors struggled to hold back a charge of the Halh clan’s chariots. " _Vel nar escal! Er arn vok!_ " 

The harsh words of the Fomorians fell from his lips and Stiles drew one hand back to his chest while the other was thrust outwards, a beam of eerie green energy shooting away from him with the speed of an arrow. The enemy chariots sought to turn away, Stiles able to see the fear in the riders’ eyes before his spell hit them. A magical bubble surrounded the enemy and the druids watched as spectral hands grabbed the riders, pulling them apart like well cooked meat, their screams lost in the sphere of green, boiling energy. 

“Gods, that was-” Éatán’s words were interrupted as a lone chariot managed to swerve around the magical attack and the rider launched a spear. The weapon sailed through the air and lodged itself in Éatán’s back, causing the druid to stagger forward and collapse on the ground.

“Nooo! Éatán!” Aiden cried out from behind Stiles. The darach roared in fury, bands of golden light wrapping themselves around his arms and torso, shielding Aiden from the Halh clan’s attacks. He shrugged the blows off and dashed across the field, scything out with his spell, dozens of enemies falling before his berserker rage. 

“Aiden! Watch out!” Stiles tried to warn him, jumping out of the way as a fireball arced out of the sky towards them. He hit the earth next to Éatán, feeling his stomach clench as he looked into the druid’s glassy eyes. Blood was dripping from his mouth and pooling around his body. “I am sorry, friend.”

“YARRR!” Aiden screamed, his form on fire as shards of rock sliced through his robes and blinded his eyes with blood. “Ahhh!”

“Let me put you out of your misery!” The younger Halh swung his sword in a wide arc and slashed Aiden’s chest viciously, tearing open a jagged trench along the darach’s torso. Aiden collapsed and stopped moving, but the younger Halh backed off as Stiles picked himself up, the warrior retreating among the advancing ranks of his warriors.

 

Liam looked around at the screaming men and women dying beside him, his leg had been shattered by one of Findabair’s clawed monsters, but Korey and Theodric had managed to buy him enough time to crawl away. However, when the warrior looked for them again, he couldn’t see them, lost in the brutal battle that was taking place at the center of the Plains of Cooley. Magical spells were still being cast by the remaining darachs and druids, though he could not tell where they were coming from; fire and smoke exploding all over the battlefield, whistling sounds overhead disorientating him as Liam dragged himself further back, waiting for his leg to heal a little. The bones were setting slowly, ripped skin stitched back together as Lidia’s healing cloud washed across his body.

He looked up in time to see her being batted backwards by a cruel war hammer, Coltún diving forward to save her, but the Chieftain too was attacked. Liam groaned as he saw a fountain of crimson burst outward and Coltún collapsed onto the ground, his sword falling from his hands. “We’re losing…”

“There’s some of us still left, we have to keep fighting!” Scotti called out, using one hand to pull Liam to his feet, the other pressing a sword back into his hand. “Íosác is rallying the remainder of his clan on the right, there’s a few aes sídhe left, protecting Nolan, we need to get there.”

“You mean there?” Liam pointed limply, despair weighing him down as he watched Findabair wade into the battle, the sorcerer’s power overwhelming. They stopped and both warriors stared in horror at Theodric’s Revenants as they were brushed aside like leaves in a gale, tumbling backwards over and over until they winked from existence and Findabair was able to turn her attention to the survivors. 

“We can still save them!” Scotti pulled away from the reluctant warrior and raced valiantly towards Íosác and Nolan. The Chieftain jumped back in time to dodge a swing from the elder Halh, his long claws swiping through the air where Scotti would have been moments before. 

“Yaaaaaaar!” Malia screamed wordlessly and vaulted over the heads of other Halh clan members, sailing through the air until she landed fearlessly next to Scotti, brandishing a spear. “Get away from him, monster!”

“No! Leave her!” The elder Halh cried out, his words falling on deaf ears as a feral werewolf smashed through Scotti’s rallied warriors, tearing them asunder.

“Ahhh!” Malia howled as the beast’s long claws punched through her leg and dragged her back into the teeming melee. “ARG-” Her screams were cut off abruptly, Scotti’s desperate attempts to get to her thwarted by another cyclonic spell by Findabair, this one tossed him back through piles of dead warriors, his head smashing against a helmet, and the Chieftain was knocked out instantly.

 

Stiles continued to fight the warriors, werewolves, and monsters that approached from all sides, the flanks of the Alliance broken and their ranks thinning. He moved towards the center, the churning thunder clouds above him were still clashing with Findabair’s firestorm, though the rain had burned away, and their strikes were growing less frequent. Eventually, the druid stopped at the center of the battlefield, seeing Findabair standing no more than the breadth of a roundhouse from him. _It is time…_

The sorcerer nodded at him and their gaze was held for a moment as each felt the dark magic build around them; enough had died to finally fuel the ritual to return Balor to the waking world. Stiles closed his eyes and lifted one hand above his head, absorbing a lightning strike and using it to form a protective cage around himself. He smirked when Findabair mirrored him, bars of fire shielding her from any who would try to interfere. The druid watched as the elder Halh stopped nearby, angrily shouting something at Findabair. She didn’t blink, lashing out instead with a tongue of flame, roasting the flesh from his face. 

Stiles ignored the younger Halh as he dragged the other away from Findabair, waiting instead until she was ready to cast the spell, knowing that they both needed to work together. He drew a deep breath, keeping his mind blank as knowledge of what had happened during the battle, the warriors and Chieftains and friends who had died, the cascade of blood he had caused to be shed, it all threatened to overwhelm him. Findabair nodded at him once more and Stiles held out his hands, palms upwards.

“From the depths where you were cast down, mighty Balor, now shall you rise to walk among mortal men again! With the blood of unwilling sacrifices, we break the chains that bind you to the earth and reforge your body into one of strength and terrible fury!” Stiles felt the magic rush through him in a near uncontrollable torrent, green fire arcing around him and lancing outwards towards Findabair where it was joined by a dark purple beam of crackling lightning. The two forces crashed together with a terrible explosion of sound, the shockwave knocking over the warriors closest to the two of them. He could feel the ground quaking under them, grass peeled back like the hide from a deer, the soil and stones jumping up and down as he increased the power of the spell. 

A burning sphere of magical energy was forming at the center of the battlefield, darkest blue at its core while the edges sizzled with flaring halos of brilliant white and aching purple. “Come forth, o Balor! Your loyal servants have found the pieces of your shattered form and will rekindle the fires of your most fearsome Eye of Destruction!” Stiles lifted his arms higher, the intensity of the magical castoff from the spell had turned the ground around his feet into brittle glass, the earth itself melting and freezing in altering moments. 

" _Il nar vak ar nar vein! Yur gah veran, ah gar na Balor! Ear na vun, nastiga!_ " The druid yelled out the next sequence in the spell, watching through squinting eyes as five ghostly arms erupted from the churning mass of the magical sphere and rose into the sky for a moment before diving down into the battlefield. They stretched across the bloodied Plains of Cooley, gathering all those who had died and pulling their broken bodies back towards the spell, collecting them into a large pile and shoving the grisly mound into a slowly opening chasm beneath the fiery sphere. 

Stiles rested for a minute, waiting for the right moment to cast the final part of the enchantment. He looked to one side suddenly, feeling eyes on him. Liam was staring at him, sword hanging loosely from one hand, his decorated body covered with more blood and gore than war paint now. The warrior’s lips were parted, disbelief on his face, but betrayal in his glowing yellow eyes. “Don’t.” Stiles warned, but it was too late, Liam had gripped his sword and was charging towards the druid and his lightning warded cage. “Fool…”

“Ah!” Liam cried out as his feet were suddenly entangled in grassy roots and he tripped, falling on his face some distance from Stiles. He tried to get up, but he was held fast and could only glare at the druid.

“Now, great Balor, your servant calls you forth from the depths, the Otherworld lies defenseless and ripe for the taking! Come forth and reclaim your rightful title as Master of Death!” Stiles slammed his two hands together at the same time Findabair did, the sound amplified a thousand times greater than it should have been. The impact hung in the air as Stiles intoned the final words of the spell. " _Mar gah veen nar, Balor!_ "

The ground was quaking uncontrollably now, forcing all but the two spellcasters to fall onto their knees, the battle petering out as they stared at the shadowy form pulling itself upwards from the great crevice in the earth that had formed under the sphere of magical power. The cascade of bodies ceased suddenly, and a column of dark, poisonous smoke erupted, covering the battlefield and obscuring everything more than a few paces in front of them. The sphere of magical energy began to hum and a moment later it exploded in a shower of blue and purple light. 

Stiles backed away from the glowing chasm and the creature that was pulling itself out of the ground. _Have your fleeting victory, but soon The Dagda and Aed will come forth and your god will break upon the golden swords of mine!_ He could hear Findabair crowing with adulation, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

“Behold Balor; the God of Death, Ravager of the Otherworld, King of the Fomorians!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Ceartas_ means "Justice".
> 
> _Dífhostú_ means "Awaken".
> 
> _“Iad a mharú!”_ Slay them all!


	5. The Eye of Destruction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please be advised that this chapter contains strong violence and gore.**

Stiles turned away, leaving Findabair to her gleeful proclamations, his lightning cage dissipating. Balor pulled himself up out of the smoke-filled crater, a monster that stood as tall as the Nemeton, hands as large as chariots gouging great furrows into the ground. The druid paused when he felt the prick of a sword blade at his back, looking over one shoulder at Liam. The warrior’s weapon was wavering, held in trembling hands, though whether it was shock or anger, Stiles could not tell. Liam glanced between him and the rising form of the massive creature behind them, indecision written across his face.

“Save your hatred for me, warrior, the real battle is about to begin.” Stiles kept moving, hearing Liam grunt and hurry away in the opposite direction. The left flank had collapsed entirely, as had the right, leaving only a small group of the Alliance fighters strung out in the center between the warriors and werewolves of Findabair. Her own monsters had been consumed by Balor’s spell, their life force aiding the god to grow into a towering figure, his head brushing against the clouds, the single eye that dominated his face was still shut. _We have time, a moment or two, before the lid is hinged open and the rain of death continues._

Stiles made it back to the tear in the world by the time Balor had fully emerged, the sky darkening as the spells that had fuelled the two storms petered out and the God of Death sucked down their remains, his dark form glowing with an eerie aura. A victorious roar echoed around the battlefield and Stiles winced, ducking down.

“I AM REBORN!!” 

“Not for long,” Stiles muttered and turned back to face the battlefield. Balor had wasted no time, smashing his way through the mixed armies that stood in his way, lurching over to Findabair so the sorcerer and her minions could lift the lid of his terrible eye of destruction. The druid frowned as he watched some of Findabair’s army flee, but the Alliance warriors held their ground, several charging towards the god, their pitiful attempts to attack him getting rebuffed easily. Stiles drew a deep breath, waiting for his reserves of magic to refill, forced to look on helplessly as Findabair’s minions used long hooks to push back the grey, leathery lid of Balor’s eye. 

They were incinerated instantly, a beam of fire and death rushing forward to scorch the earth. Balor stood tall, only his head bent as he swept the beam across the battlefield, dozens of warriors falling under his fearsome weapon. “Fionn…” Stiles groaned, seeing the Chieftain grab Korey and throw him out of the eye’s path, but he was not quick enough to escape himself. Fionn was a charred body frozen in the air one moment, and then nothing but ash the next as the beam vanished and Balor laughed cruelly. 

The Fair Folk led the second charge, their magic bouncing off Balor’s armor, the enchanted metal discs covering his torso and limbs repelling the spells back onto the aes sídhe, killing the remainder of their force. Stiles glared at the ground, silently urging his power to return to him more quickly, only looking back up when he heard a familiar voice cry out in alarm. “Gaibriél…I told you to wait with the archers!” The druid bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, the copper taste in his mouth leeching into his stomach as the knot of tension there twisted ever tighter. Nolan had been saved by the hunter of men, the Fairy King’s audacious crown melting in the fires of Balor’s attack, Macen falling as they were separated in the chaos. 

There was death and despair at every turn, even as Scotti, Lidia, and Íosác tried to rally their forces towards the center, a ring of spears protecting the leaders as they attempted to keep out of Balor’s path, the god unleashing short bursts from his eye instead of the long beams. Stiles moved his gaze further afield, seeing Findabair staring at him, her frown visible even at his distance. “My time grows short, she is wondering why I have not joined her in cheering her victory as was agreed. But she is mistaken, it will not be _her_ victory this day!”

The druid crouched in the blood-soaked grass and reached into the pouches attached to his belt. He took out three runic inscribed stones and placed them in a triangle in front of him, cords of glowing gold forming the shape at the whisper of a word of power, “ _Tairseach_ ” 

Next, Stiles pulled out his dagger, wiping it clean of blood from the battle, and held it up in front of him. “It is time, my true masters, Your people need You. Oh, mighty Aed, take up Your shield and guard us from this evil!” Stiles sliced his left hand open with the dagger, grunting as his blood fell like a waterfall into the center of the triangle. 

A shimmering pool of golden light formed as soon as the druid’s blood touched the grass and there was a roll of thunder from above them. Stiles looked up, a smile spreading across his lips when he saw a bright, white lightning bolt arc across the clearing sky and a chorus of a hundred horns blowing the sweetest note he had ever heard echoed across the battlefield. 

He watched Aed materialise in front of him, a strapping youth with golden hair and armor that gleamed so much that it hurt to look at him, sitting astride a princely white stallion. Stiles bowed before the figure, raising his head in time to see Aed smirk at him and pull out his sword, a silver blade that echoed the magical sword that Scotti wielded. Aed readied his shield and charged forward, a wave of light and hope emanating from the warrior as he advanced across the battlefield, lifting Stiles’ heart with each step. 

“The battle is not yet over, Scotti.” Stiles muttered to himself, hearing the shouts of joy and relief as Aed vaulted off his horse and into the middle of the surviving members of the Alliance. “And Aed is not my only ally. Oh, great Dagda, mightiest of all the gods, hear the cries of your loyal servant! I have done all that You have asked of me; the blood of my friends drenches the Plains of Cooley, I have aided the dread sorcerer Findabair in raising her master Balor from the depths of the world. The Alliance stands against this evil, but we cannot best it alone!”

“You are _not_ alone!” The Dagda stepped forward out of thin air. He placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, the druid’s wounds healing instantly and then The Dagda strode towards Balor, the _lorg mór_ held out in preparation for the battle, his powerful staff pointing at the Fomorian king. “Hear me, sons and daughters of the Alliance! Hope is not yet lost, for in this battle you no longer face the ancient enemy unaided! Rally to me! RALLY!”

Stiles collapsed onto his knees, feeling completely drained of his magical power. He managed a small smile when Scotti leapt upright and waved his sword above his head, leading the survivors forward into a charge with The Dagda and Aed at its tip. _I can do no more, it is in your hands now, my friends._

 

Korey looked up as Scotti and a group of the remaining warriors ran past him, seeing the Chieftain grin and gesture with his sword at the towering figure of Balor. He opened his mouth to query the strange exuberance when a calming sensation washed over him and Korey turned his gaze to the right. A noble figure sat astride a white stallion, his hair gleaming like just-melted gold, strong arms bunched as he gripped a richly decorated shield and a sword that caught the sunlight attempting to break through the clouds. “Is that…”

“Aed.” Theodric answered for him, pulling Korey to one side as Balor rotated, his fearsome eye ripping a burning furrow along the ground in front of them. “It’s part of Stiles’ plan.”

“Wait, what?”

“Apologies, I wanted to tell you sooner, but-”

“Fionn is dead!” Korey shouted at him angrily. He immediately regretted it as Theodric’s expression crumbled and the darach looked to one side, lips pressed tight together. “I, I tried to save him, but there was nothing I could do.”

“Such is the price paid to summon a god.” Theodric straightened up and his face grew hard. He glanced at Korey and shook his head. “Now is not the time or place to discuss this further. If Aed has come, that means The Dagda is not far behind.” As Theodric spoke, he could hear shouting and cheering from where Scotti had gathered. “Ah, it appears that Stiles was successful after all. We may have a chance to defeat Balor if we work together. Come along!”

“How are we meant to destroy something that powerful?!” Korey cried as he followed Theodric across the battlefield to where their shattered army was gathered under the gently drifting clan banners. He frowned as he looked from Scotti’s sword to Aed’s and Korey grinned, “God-forged weapons can kill gods, Stiles told me that!”

“He told me that too.” Scotti turned around and looked at them, craning his head to project his gaze over the duo. “Is there no more of you?”

“I saw a few dozen on the far right flank; some of the aes sídhe, a few chariots, that hunter Stiles favors, and I think I saw King Nolan’s crown melting into a pool of gold. But my clan, the Mountain Clan, we are among the few that remain.” Theodric leaned on Korey’s shoulder as he felt a gnawing at his stomach, but he pushed the feelings of grief away and concentrated on Scotti’s words. “No, the aes sídhe are cut off; Balor’s weapon started a fire and I doubt they’d be much help anyway, the wounded were gathering at the edge of the battlefield.”

“We have barely a hundred at our side.” Scotti said as the group ran to the left, dodging another beam of the deadly fire. “What about Findabair’s force?”

“Annihilated.” Korey shook his head. “She seemed to harvest their life force for extra power, I don’t know how many survive. And we can’t stay here, Scotti, we have to attack.”

“I agree.” Liam staggered up, supporting a bloodied and burnt Íosác. “He didn’t exactly get out of the way in time. Can you help him, darach?”

“Set him down there.” Theodric pointed and knelt next to the Chieftain, grimacing as he cast his gaze over the man’s charred and blackened skin, blood boiled from his flesh, the stench making his stomach turn. The darach placed his hand on Íosác’s forehead as Liam hovered nearby and both Scotti and Korey went to rally the rest of their warriors to The Dagda’s side. “Hmm…” Theodric grunted as he felt his magic being repelled from Íosác’s body, the runic stone clutched in his other hand unable to pierce the strength of Balor’s cursed fire. “No, it is no use.”

“What? Can you do nothing?!” Liam glared at him as Íosác opened his eyes, a finger twitching as he beckoned Liam closer. “No, you, you can’t-”

“It is over…” Íosác grunted, his breath too hot on Liam’s skin. “Win this battle and lay me to rest in the waterfall cave where we…haha, ah…”

“No! NOOO! Argh!” Liam howled his anguish, claws bursting from his nails, fangs ripping from his gums, a savage appearance to enhance his already bloodied and painted body. The warrior grabbed a nearby sword driven into the ground and charged forward, past a protesting Theodric, all reason fleeing his body as an unstoppable rage engulfed his mind. “ARGHHH! Die Balor!”

“Liam!” Korey shouted out, about to dash after him when Scotti grabbed him around the waist. “No! Get back here, Liam! Let me go!”

“Bloodlust has taken him Korey, there’s nothing you can do!”

“No!”

 

“The enemy are coming, my king.”

“I know, Saoirse, gather the others.” Nolan grunted, standing up with Gaibriél’s help. He dismissed the wounded aes sídhe and pointed over the cratered ridge. “We can pull back to the forest.”

“You’ll never make it.” The hunter of men shook his head and picked up his sword from where he had dropped it. Gaibriél nodded at the approaching wave of Findabair’s human soldiers in the distance. “The other groups flee, but I think their reason is not their own.”

“You are right; Findabair drives them with her will.” Nolan whispered a moment later, hand held in the warriors’ direction. “We cannot defeat Balor, but we still might render aid to those who are fighting him. She means to isolate them further.”

“Will you fight with me?” Gaibriél held Nolan’s gaze, the Fae king looking more vulnerable without his top-heavy crown. 

“You would charge them alone, druid-friend?”

“Stiles is on the other side of the battlefield, I need to get to him.” He nodded across the ruined landscape of the Plains of Cooley, fissures and craters dominated by foul smoke and the screams of those who were not yet dead. Findabair’s warriors had changed course to avoid a blast from Balor’s eye and Nolan pushed Gaibriél back behind the fluttering wings of his butterfly mount. “Either way, you cannot stay here, there are a few of you left: enough to break the enemy’s charge and give us time to reach Stiles.”

“I fear all is lost.” Nolan muttered, turning away from him to look at Macen’s disfigured body torn asunder nearby, his lower half lost to flame and destruction. “Our magic is not for battle, druid-friend, but for trickery and amusement! For concealment and confusion, or curses…”

“Are there any such curses that you can call on now?” Gaibriél stepped closer to Nolan, cautiously placing a hand on the aes sídhe’s shoulder. It was not as fragile as the hunter had thought and he gripped tighter. “We need any edge you can bring. Even if we cannot get to Stiles, if all we can achieve is time enough for Scotti and the others to defeat Balor then it will be worth any risk.”

“You must protect me while I gather the remaining aes sídhe to our side.” Nolan held his eyes for a moment longer than Gaibriél was comfortable with, as though the king was reading his thoughts. The moment passed, and Nolan stepped away, his high voice calling for his fellows to rally around him. “Come! Come! Gather to me! A curse of the ancient world we must cast!”

“That sounds ominous.” Gaibriél muttered and reached for his bow and quiver, gathering arrows quickly as Findabair’s minions got closer, their strange gait becoming less so when he saw the deep silver glow that invaded their eyes. He notched the first arrow to his bow and squinted, releasing it as soon as the leading warrior spotted him among the piles of dead and dying. Gaibriél grunted in satisfaction when the enemy tripped over and fell, “They are mortal, only controlled, I think!”

“Good, good, hunter of men!” Nolan chirped from behind him. “Keep them occupied, we will cast quickly!”

“I can do that.” Gaibriél nodded, sparing a glance over his shoulder to see Nolan gathered with five of his kin, hands held in a complex overlaying pattern, their lips moving silently as silver bands of magic rippled and formed out of thin air to create a lattice. The hunter turned his attention back to the nearby warriors and notched another arrow to his bow. “Come on, ugly!”

 

“Liam!” Theodric shouted fruitlessly, watching as the warrior was swallowed up in the black smog that surrounded Balor’s feet, the burning of the grasslands sending up great plumes of smoke. The darach growled wordlessly to himself and left Íosác’s body with all the other dead, making his way to where the remaining leaders were gathered with the two gods. He bowed low when Aed and The Dagda looked his way. “Greetings, mighty heroes, we are honored that You would take the field with us.”

“Your druid’s strength is nearly spent,” The Dagda rumbled, raising a hand to shield them from a blast from Balor’s eye. There was a blinding white light for a moment and when Theodric looked over his shoulder, he saw a shimmering shield of transparent blue fading on the air after absorbing the attack. The Dagda continued to speak. “Stiles was not Findabair’s ally, but her true enemy. Better that Balor be dragged to the surface here where we could confront him than be summoned in secret and be given a chance to regain his former power by harvesting all that lies within the Otherworld.”

“Tell that to the dead.” Theodric muttered. He sighed and shook his head when Korey looked for Liam behind him. “If You were here to kill Balor, You would have done so by now.”

“You are perceptive, darach.” Aed nodded and gestured towards the death god with his sword. “To destroy Balor we must strike at his eye and that can only be done with a weapon such as my sword or the Chieftain’s.”

“I understand.” Scotti replied quickly, hefting _Ceartas_ in his hand. He frowned and looked at the towering figure in the distance, Balor’s eye was a churning firestorm that reminded the Chieftain of the forge when Korey used to meld copper and tin together. “But how are we to get to the eye?”

“Cut him down to size.” Korey said determinedly, seeing Lidia huddled with a few of her warriors, their long, heavy-bladed spears dropped in the dirt next to them. “Balor might be strong, but if we split up into two groups and attack his legs with our spears, we could force him to fall over.”

“And that would leave him vulnerable, yes…” Aed grinned at Korey, causing the smith to flush as a rush of heat cascaded down his chest and pooled in his stomach. “Scotti, follow me and take half of your forces with the spears. The rest-”

“Should go with him.”

They whirled around at the unfamiliar voice, swords being pulled out as soon as they saw that it was the younger Halh, his armor and finery splattered with blood and gore, smoke and charred flesh clinging to the blade of his sword. Theodric clenched his fist and felt the magic build up slowly. “You dare come here?!”

“Please, I come in peace.” The enemy Chieftain stuck his sword into the ground and raised his hands, palms upwards. “And to offer what little aid I can with the warriors I have left; Findabair has taken the minds of the rest. If you take the other flank, we will strike the right and bring the monster down, so you can finish it.”

“And _why_ should we trust you?” Scotti glared at him, “You who are allied with Findabair and her evil plan?!”

“Unknowing allies, my clansmen are dead, my family-gah, she betrayed us all and used our gathered strength and lives as kindling to light a great fire.” The younger Halh spat angrily and looked over at Balor as the god’s eye burned brightly. “He’s preparing for another attack, whatever time we have bought to argue is almost spent. Will you accept our friendship to defeat Balor?”

“To defeat the monster,” Scotti nodded after a moment of looking between Theodric and Korey. “But nothing more.”

“Done.”

 

Scotti slashed wildly at Balor’s shin, his sword cutting through the god’s flesh where the other weapons only seemed to poke small holes that healed instantly. But it didn’t matter, the death god was shouting angrily at them in a harsh, guttural language that the Chieftain didn’t understand, whirling around and around, trying to bring his Eye of Destruction to bear on them. “Keep under him!” 

“We’re trying!” Theodric called out in response, pushing Korey ahead of him as Balor’s foot rose into the air and then crashed down behind them, squashing a group of warriors that weren’t so fast. There was a toxic smog filling the space under Balor as the Fomorian King cast a spell of confusion. “Gah! We’ll never bring him down if we’re attacking each other!”

“What do I do?” Korey broke off from smashing his hammer into Balor’s black and knobbly foot. Scotti and Aed were teaming up, both of them taking turns to cut through the magical skin, torrents of slimy blood cascading down to flood the churned mud under their feet. “Theodric?”

“Hold still, tell everyone to grab something or stand fast.” The darach stretched his arms out on either side and tilted his head back, drawing on the lingering magic that was trickling in from the tear in the Otherworld some distance behind them. He whispered a single word to activate the enchantment. “ _Gaoth…_ ” A rushing burst of air gathered around his limbs, swirling vortexes of wind that sped up and rapidly spun around him until Theodric thrust his arms upwards above his head and the magical gale blasted the toxic smog away, carrying it up and far over towards the ocean. 

“That was amazing!” Korey grinned at him and pointed to where Aed and Scotti were now chipping at bone. “I think we got them enough time!”

“Let’s get out of here!” Theodric called out warningly as Balor howled in rage and began hopping on one foot, holding the injured leg up. They raced backwards along with the rest of their warriors, Scotti being caught by Aed and dropped gently to the ground. 

Korey looked over his shoulder as Balor screamed wordlessly and crashed onto the grassy plains with an earth-shattering thud that forced them off their feet. The smith rolled over and helped Theodric up, seeing the Halh clan’s leader flying through the air, slapped by Balor’s thrashing arms. He watched emotionlessly as the man smashed into the ground and rolled over and over like a skipping rock, his body hopelessly broken. “No more than you deserve.”

“Come along, Korey, there’s still fighting to do.” 

 

Gaibriél growled and staggered backwards, blood from a dozen cuts covering his smooth skin. “Are you ready yet?!”

“A moment longer, druid-friend!” Nolan cried out from behind him. “The curse-breaking curse is ancient, but it is forming!”

“About bloody time!” Gaibriél reached down and broke off the shaft of an arrow that was lodged in his thigh. “Ah, gods!” He could feel the barbed head tearing at his muscles and grimaced, still able to whirl around and cut down a warrior that was charging towards Nolan and his group of spellcasters. “Argh!”

“Almost…”

“Die monster!” Gaibriél roared and leapt into the air, driving his sword down the throat of the archer who had been taking shots at him. They crashed into the ground, the hunter of men being coated in the spray of blood that fountained from the archer’s split chest. He struggled to his feet, wrenching the sword up with him, pulling it through the ruined muscles and shattered bones, shaking off the clumped flesh from the wet blade. “Nolan?!”

“We are ready!” The aes sídhe king turned to face him, a silver ball of light held in the air between his hands, thick threads of pulsing magic joining him to the others gathered around him. “Be free from this madness! Reclaim your reason! Yaaa!” Nolan flung the magical ball at the remaining warriors, watching as it crashed into the center of the group.

A blinding light cast those nearest backwards as a howling wind gathered from one corner of the battlefield and raced towards the center. It pooled around Balor’s feet, before sweeping up towards those who were attacking Nolan. The sound ceased and Gaibriél frowned as the men and women who had been fighting him blinked in confusion, the silver glow gone from their eyes. They turned away and began to flee as the ground trembled and quaked beneath their feet.

“Phew, ugh…” Gaibriél staggered back into Nolan, his legs suddenly feeling weak, forcing him to sit down suddenly. The aes sídhe crouched next to him, a cooling hand on his face. “Apologies, Stiles…”

“The druid will regain his power, Findabair knows her army is broken.” Nolan reached behind him and tilted Gaibriél’s head upwards, so he could see the battlefield. “Balor has fallen, and once defeated, the battle will be over.”

“Stiles won’t let her get away.”

“Rest, now, druid-friend.” Nolan smiled at him and gestured for Saoirse to bring water. “I will take care of you.”

 

“Argh!” Scotti snarled, whirling his sword in an arc over his head, rewarded by a howl of pain from Balor and an unpleasant shower of murky brown blood when fingers as large as standing stones fell onto the ground with meaty thunks. The death god was on his back now, writhing around as The Dagda used his _lorg mór_ to disable his legs. 

Stiles stood on the ridge overlooking the churned earth and blood-soaked grass of the battlefield. Broken flags and ragged banners littered the space not occupied by the piles of dead warriors. He drew a deep breath and watched as Aed stood astride Balor’s chest, advancing with grim determination, his silver sword held in one hand, embossed shield in the other. The champion’s outline began to glow with golden fire. “Balor! Your time is over! No longer shall your shadow fall upon this world!”

The druid frowned as he noticed a figure stumbling away from the battlefield, a long, flowing white dress trailing out behind her. “Findabair.” Stiles started to walk too, his attention no longer on the death of Balor, instead focusing on the dread sorcerer who had served the will of the Fomorian King. “You will not get away from me. Roscoe!” The druid grunted as the strain of summoning his spectral bear ripped a thin line down his hand, blood seeping from the wound. He climbed onto the bear’s back and directed him at Findabair, watching as she raced towards the cliff’s edge. “A boat, perhaps?”

Stiles glanced over his shoulder as he felt the warming rays of the sun on his back, their storm spells exhausted, Balor’s foul magic fading back into the earth. But he had no time to check on Scotti and the others, to congratulate them on their victory, or explain his actions. No, Stiles had eyes for one person alone, scowling as Findabair stopped near the edge of the cliff, turning to face him. “One final battle then…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tairseach_ means "Portal".
> 
>  _lorg mór_ which is a magical staff/club that The Dagda wields can kill with nine men with one blow and return life with the other end. It literally means "the great staff/club/mace".
> 
>  _Gaoth_ means "Wind."


	6. The Druid's Path

Stiles grimaced as Roscoe walked forward, hearing the sudden roar from Balor behind him signalling that the death god was not yet defeated. But he couldn’t stop and risk Findabair getting away, besides with Scotti’s sword and Theodric’s magic, Aed and The Dagda, there was little hope for Balor’s victory. The druid held out his hand and patted the spectral bear’s head, his eyes locked onto the figure standing near the cliff’s edge, her own ghostly mount by her side. Stiles slid off Roscoe’s back and nodded at the wolf, “All yours, my friend. Send that beast back to the pit from whence it came!” 

“Harrr!” Roscoe growled, his teeth bared as his hackles rose, moving silently around to the wolf’s other side as Findabair gestured for her spectral beast to attack Roscoe.

“This battle is for you and I alone, Stiles.”

“Agreed.” The druid took a deep breath, smelling the salt on the cool wind blowing in from the ocean. “You escaped justice when you killed my clan and burned our village to the ground. And though I defeated you in winter, you have not yet answered for the blood spilled here in Balor’s name.”

“You dare speak of Him with your traitor’s mouth?” She glared, a frosty expression descending as the wind whipped the trailing edges of her white dress into long, thin streamers that flared out around her. “All that I have worked for, all the sacrifices and manipulations are undone. Very well, I will settle for breaking _you_ before I disappear into the west!”

“There is nowhere you can go that I will not hunt you down, sorcerer.” Stiles growled, clenching his fists and raising them slowly above his head. “Rawrr!” Great pillars of rock erupted from the ground behind him and twisted together as though they were bands of gold forming a torc, soil and pebbles raining down as Stiles used his dominion of nature to mold them into a living serpent of stone, eyes of glowing amethyst bursting into life as Findabair took a step backwards uncertainly. “You have many powers at your disposal, but I am a druid of the Nemeton, I have walked the pathways of the Otherworld, I have heard The Dagda’s words in my ear, I have seen this moment, and your doom, Findabair!”

“Ah!” Findabair snarled back at him, raising her own hands and making a complicated gesture as Stiles thrust out his fists, sending the stone snake arcing over his head and towards her. A loud crack echoed through the air and Stiles grunted when he saw thick sheets of ice fall from just in front of the sorcerer’s body.

The stone snake suddenly crumbled into dust and with a savage roar, Findabair screeched a spell into the air, the language unknown to Stiles. He tensed up, prepared to respond when black clouds gathered over them, the sun obscured. There was an odd sound and sensation to the magical gloom and the druid’s eyes widened when he realized that it was not cloud that Findabair had summoned but a flock of dark, winged monsters, swooping down towards him. Their claws glinted in the darkness, blood-red eyes boring into his own, malevolent presence tainting the space around them with dark sparks of red and yellow. 

“Hmm.” Stiles backed away quickly, looking over his shoulder at the breach in the veil between the world and the Otherworld, raw magic still trickling through. He nodded as the spell came unbidden into his mind. _Her creatures are made of magic, and so must mine be._ The druid closed his eyes, ignoring the flapping wings as the monsters came closer, concentrating instead on the difficult incantation. “…flock of fury, beaks of duty, guard me now as you have guarded the forest.” Stiles opened his eyes as the first of Findabair’s minions swooped low, barbed claws poised to slash at his face. “ _Tar amach, caomhnóirí!_ ”

“Arhoooo!” The howl was joined by a hundred others, though the cries varied greatly as a surge of woodland animals appeared out of thin air behind Stiles, a red fox leaping up and smacking the attacking monster to one side. The animals charged forwards, owls and hawks taking on the closest enemies as the monsters landed and the battle was joined; rabbits and squirrels dancing around their enemies and causing a distraction for the deer and elk to exploit. Their eyes glowed with a supernatural green, the same color as the protective aura that enveloped Stiles.

“Coward!” Findabair shouted at him over the flying fur and breaking of bones.

“You are the weakling who will not fight me one-on-one.” Stiles replied calmly, walking through the churning melee towards the cliff, Findabair mirroring him across the field. He could see Roscoe and the sorcerer’s wolf had broken off their fight and were instead joining with their respective allies as the woodland creatures battled the dark monsters back and forth across the clifftop. “Nature stands with me! What allies do you call on but beasts of darkness, twisted from their purpose? Your god is dying! Your armies are shattered! And your Chieftains see your true colors now! Surrender, and the Alliance may yet be merciful.”

“Mercy is for the weak!” She glared at him again, fury in her eyes. “You ask what allies I claim? You may command nature, but the elements alone obey me!” A multi-coloured flame erupted in front of her and the sorcerer grinned, the shades dancing on her face. “Yahh!”

Stiles quickly reached into one of the bags attached to his belt and clenched his hand around the smooth, silver orb inside, feeling the charm bloom and Findabair’s spells bounce off the shimmering light that surrounded him. A howling gale battered against the barrier, ripples forming as though it was passing over water. “Wind bends the trees of the forest, but in the storm, we find strength.” Stiles walked slowly forward, smiling as Findabair released a yell of frustration and her attack changed. 

A dozen jets of water rebounded harmlessly off his magical barrier, shooting past him to score deep grooves in the earth around him. “The force of the river smooths the jagged points of the stones, but while taking our teeth, you give us grace and agility.”

“Dodge this!” She smashed her hands into the ground and frost raced out from the impact, turning the grass to spikes of ice, though that spell also had no effect on Stiles’ protective shield. It flared against the light and turned to mist as the druid continued to advance towards her calmly.

“Ice has always been your weapon of choice, Findabair.” Stiles waved his hand through the icy vapour. “And though it covers the land and entombs nature itself, deep in the earth, new life endures. You cannot win with devastation.” The druid grunted as he felt the sleeve of his left arm get suddenly wet, the charm had begun to draw on his own life force as the magic contained in the silver orb drained away. He ignored it and silently prayed that the blood would not show through his robes and give the sorcerer a sign of his failing strength. Stiles looked up in time to see Findabair’s lips move and a storm of fire wrapping itself around him.

“Die, druid!”

“Fire is destructive, yes.” Stiles called out, swiping his hand out to magically quench the flames. “But it cleanses the forest, allowing for new growth, for new strength. Now, feel our wrath!” He dropped the shield suddenly and used the residual magic to summon long cords of ivy and brambles which grew rapidly from the ground. They wrapped themselves around Findabair and snared her as her spell failed and the plume of many colored fire vanished. “I will bind you, as the druids of old did to spirits that were too dangerous to send to the afterlife. Here you will stay, immortal, yes, but unmoving, unable to extend to your foul influence across anything but the crabs that scuttle among the seaweed of the ocean’s depths.”

“What?” Findabair looked fearfully over the edge of the cliff and baulked. “You cannot! You do not have the power to hold me! _Cabhair liom!_ ” The last words were directed at the ragged flock of winged monsters, their sudden disengagement from combat and frenzied flight over to Findabair forced Stiles backwards.

“Ah!” He shielded his face with a forearm and staggered away as the monsters tore and ripped at the ivy cords binding the sorcerer to the ground. A moment later, she was free, and Stiles was on the defensive again, this time weathering a relentless assault by all of Findabair’s elemental powers at the same time. The druid grunted and crossed his arms in front of his face, another long gash forming along his thigh as he used his blood to form the magical shield once more.

 

“Ah! What are these things?” Korey cried out in alarm as he swiped his war hammer through black wisps of smoke that had a vaguely human shape. “I can’t kill them!” Their arms reached out, passing through a warrior next to him, the fighter’s head exploding in a shower of gore and bone fragments as the wisp’s limb became solid. “AH! Theodric!”

“I’m coming, Korey!” Theodric called out, his dagger blazing with white light as he used the magically enhanced blade to slice the wisps in half. Their forms hung on the air for a moment before fading away with a ghostly whisper. “It’s Balor’s magic, I think he’s trying to distract us long enough to heal himself.”

“It’s working!” Korey whirled around, trying to keep the shades away from his body, their questing limbs waving back and forth as though they were branches in the wind. He looked up as Theodric leapt to his rescue, the wisps reeling backwards to avoid the darach’s weapon. “Thanks!”

“Here.” Theodric reached out and placed his hand on the war hammer’s head. He muttered words that Korey didn’t hear, the iron suddenly turning a luminescent white to match Theodric’s own dagger. “There, you should be more effective now.”

“Great, that should help us get back to Aed and the others.” Korey looked around, seeing Theodric staring at something nearby. They were surrounded by a thick, black gloom, Balor obscuring the battlefield as flashes of red light and screams of terror and agony echoed around them. “What is it?”

“Iordáin…” 

“Huh?” He moved next to Theodric, following his finger and grimaced as he saw the hunter’s body lying with the rest of the sacrifices Stiles and Findabair had used to bring Balor back. The remains of Iordáin’s face was slack, his jaw hanging open, blood smeared across his skin. Korey tugged on Theodric’s robes. “We can’t do anything for him now, we have to defeat Balor.”

“I can bring him back,” Theodric muttered, glancing around at the hundreds of bodies strewn across the battlefield, the air heavy with the metallic tang of spilled blood. “It is old magic, powerful, the price would be terrible otherwise. But with all the death in this place, the veil is already stretched thin. Aed is here with us, so the dead have not yet been taken across to the afterlife-”

“Theodric! Let’s go!”

“No.” The darach refused and spread his arms wide, words of power spilling from his lips. " _Mar li oust teir! Teach bren, aya un!_ " The magic manifested itself suddenly, bright purple fire bursting into existence in the palms of his outstretched hands. It dripped between his fingers and faded from view before hitting the ground. Theodric concentrated, trying to sort through the many spirits of the dead that were wandering the battlefield; the old and the new, the lost and the forsaken, until at last he could see Iordáin, standing by the cliff, watching Stiles and Findabair’s battle. 

The darach frowned, looking at their conflict for a moment, eyes widening as their magic wounded the earth and the air and the very essence of the spirit world he was in. “Such power.” Just as Theodric was about to reach out and draw Iordáin back into his mortal form, the spell collapsed and the darach was propelled backwards, crashing into the ground. “Ugh…”

“Look out!” Korey grabbed Theodric by the back of his robs and dragged him into cover behind a pile of dead warriors, hugging him tight when Balor’s eye of destruction seared the ground in front of them to cinders.

“Foolish darach!” The god’s voice boomed out of the gloom, banishing the smoke so they were looking up at his fearsome visage. “Your magic will not work here!”

“Leave him be!” Aed skidded to a halt in front of them, his legendary shield scored and dented from the battle. “Fight me instead!”

“This is between you and I, Balor!” The Dagda called out, levelling his staff at the Fomorian King. “And it is your magic that will fail. I alone command the spirits of the dead, and I bid them to rise!” The Dagda pressed the base of the staff into the ground. The earth began to shake, a ripple of invisible energy passing over the battlefield. “Come back and fight, heroes of the Alliance!”

“Nothing happened.” Korey whispered fearfully to Theodric a moment later as Balor laughed again, his eye glowing with fire once more.

“Ancient magic beyond even you is what my servants used to return me to this world,” Balor gestured expansively. “A ritual of blood and bone and flesh that they did not understand fully. You will never gain the spirits of those who were sacrificed without the life force of he who cast it, of the one who pulled me from my spirit cage. Now you will all burn in my fury!” 

Theodric pushed Korey down against the ground as Aed used his shield to protect them from the onslaught. _Gods, Stiles, what have you done?_

 

“Enough!” Stiles growled and pulled out the amulet that Gaibriél had retrieved for him. He stood up and released it, watching as it hung in the air in front of him, the runes glowing faintly when it recognized his magic. The screeching minions that Findabair had summoned were gone, their black carcasses broken across the battlefield, Stiles’ woodland allies retreating back into the Otherworld after their victory. He glanced to one side, grimacing as he spotted Roscoe’s wounded hide, ghostly blood leaking into the air as the bear continued to battle against Findabair’s spectral wolf. “This ends now, Findabair, one final chance to surrender!” The sorcerer herself had stopped her attack on him, her frame heaving with the effort, face drawn and pale. She did not reply, saving her breath to summon fireballs in her hands. “As you wish…”

The druid held his hands on either side of the amulet, sparks crackling around his fingers, the magic of the gods pulsing within the amulet. “This is the Tear of Airmed, behold its ire!” Stiles smashed his hands together, the amulet caught in between his palms. Thunder rolled deafeningly across the battlefield, lightning flashing constantly as it was accompanied by a blast of wind so strong it uprooted the planted battle standards on the ridge behind him and forced Balor to stagger sideways, allowing Aed to thrust his sword into the god’s knee. Stiles watched as Findabair was tossed backwards like a leaf in the wind, her elemental magics ripped from her body and cast outwards into the western ocean. 

The amulet fell to the ground with a tinkle of silver chains, its power spent. Stiles reached down and picked up his dagger from where it had fallen earlier and advanced slowly, waiting for Findabair to get back up. “Binding you is the right thing to do, but who says I cannot exact revenge for those I have lost before I lock you in your deep tomb for all time?”

“You call on powerful spells, druid.” The sorcerer was on her hands and knees, spitting out a mouthful of blood as she looked up at his approach. “I have under-estimated you, Stiles, but no longer. I am the greatest magic wielder that has ever lived, and I will not be cowed by druid tricks and ancient charms! Yahhh!” Findabair lashed out, shadows forming behind her and blue lightning spilling from her hands. 

Stiles dodged the first strike but was hit by the second. “Argh!” Agony ripped down his chest and danced across his legs. But he had no time to rest, Findabair was attacking him again, spears of lightning stabbing into the ground he had been lying on seconds earlier. The druid scrambled backwards, feeling his strength increase momentarily as he made his way towards the breach in the Otherworld. Stiles looked over his shoulder, fear gripping his stomach for the first time in the battle. Findabair was walking towards him with a determined gait, a sword of dark magic forming in her hand, the edge wicked and covered in scrawling script. _A shadow-blade? Her magic is strong indeed, I have only ever seen the echoes in the Otherworld of such a weapon._

The druid grunted and drew a ragged breath into his lungs. He could feel more blood soaking into his robe as he tried to put some distance between him and Findabair, his hands shaking. Stiles collapsed onto his knees in front of the torn stretch of air, seeing ghostly figures moving around just inside the breach to the Otherworld. He frowned as the familiar faces of his parents and the others from his clan became sharper and clearer, their forms shifting between how he remembered them and how Findabair had killed them. Noble and proud one moment, broken and bloody the next. But there was one that Stiles did not recognize, a shining warrior whose spirit glowed brightly. 

There was a whisper on the breeze, a spell of the Tuatha De Danann, the words forming on Stiles’ lips before he could question it. The druid stood up and turned to face Findabair. She was close to him now, her black blade held aloft and ready to strike him down. “ _Is mise mise…_ ” He finished the spell and smiled, feeling strength and power returning to his body. 

“What magic is this?” Findabair muttered, stepping away from him as the shinning warrior in the Otherworld turned to white energy and flowed like water out of the breach and reformed around Stiles, encasing the druid in ghostly armor. “Who are you?” 

“I am a descendant of the legendary warrior Fionn mac Cumhaill, leader of the Fianna,” Stiles’ voice shifted and changed as he and the spirit spoke together, a shimmering round shield appearing over his left arm. “Magic and war has always run in our bloodline, as has the duty to protect our homeland from evil such as you, Findabair!”

“You died once, spirit, you will die again!” Findabair cried and lashed out with her sword, a fragile ringing as the two magical blades clashed. “Ah!”

“Rarr!” Stiles went on the offensive, swinging with controlled movements, letting the spirit guide his arms and legs, rolling out of the blows he couldn’t block, and jumping up to score Findabair’s back and sides when an opening presented itself. He wasn’t completely immune from attack though, and more than once the sorcerer’s evil blade managed to slice a jagged line up his torso, the spirit of his warrior forebearer taking the brunt of the injury. 

They continued to hack and slash at each other, both now bleeding and breathing hard, though Findabair seemed weaker. Stiles charged forward to finish her off, caught unawares as her spectral wolf collided heavily with him. “Ah!” The monster’s snapping jaws were at his face, but before it could take a bite, Roscoe smashed into the wolf’s flanks and tossed him away from Stiles. “Thank you, my old friend.” The druid muttered, climbing to his feet as Roscoe growled painfully, his spirit form wounded and bleeding. “Almost to the end now…”

“Your end, Stiles!” Findabair had backed away, her sword discarded, arms raised as a silvery mist hung in the air before her. “But do not worry, you will see your ancestors soon enough!”

“What-” Stiles was cut off as Findabair finished casting her spell and the breach to the Otherworld sealed shut in an instant, dragging the spirit warrior from his body and sending the druid tumbling backwards with a groan. Weakness drenched him like icy water, black spots hovering in his vision. “Ugh.”

 

“ARGHH!” Scotti cried out, driving his sword deep into Balor’s chest, his blade joined a moment later by Aed’s. The Chieftain looked up in time to see The Dagda smashing his staff into Balor’s eye, the death god slumping down, the fires of destruction that seethed in the evil eye were finally quieted. “Ha, ah…” Scotti pulled his weapon free, grimacing at the dark blood and followed Aed when the god gestured for them to get off Balor’s body.

“It is done, Balor has been killed at last.” Aed grunted, wiping his sword clean and then sheathing it. He gently pushed Scotti out of the way. “Behold, my father will now ensure that his evil can never again return to your world or to ours!”

The Dagda nodded grimly and stepped off Balor’s head, his hands moving in intricate and arcane motions. Scotti wished Stiles was with him, so he could ask the druid what was happening, but a moment later he understood. Balor’s body began to disintegrate, winds howled around it, snow fell from nowhere and then the sun blasted it, waves of heat lapping out from the contained spell. The Dagda manipulated the currents of time until there was nothing left of the death god but Balor’s eye; an empty jewel that sat on a ring of dust, Scotti glanced at Aed’s handsome face. “What about that?”

“I will take it and cast the spent eye of Balor into the darkest pit in deepest reaches of the Otherworld where no one will ever find it.” The warrior gestured at the bloodied battlefield around them and then pointed towards the cliffs some distance away. “The druid and the sorcerer still fight, we will help him, but you should start finding your dead. Balor spoke the truth: his magic cannot be undone without another sacrifice…”

Scotti let the words wash over him as his sword fell out of his grip, the enormity of their losses crashing down on him. He looked around, seeing only one or two warriors that he knew, they were shifting through the piles of dead in the vain hopes of finding a friend or lover. Theodric was kneeling next to the fallen hunter, Iordáin, while Korey had wandered away, dragging his war hammer behind him until he too stopped and stared at one of the many patches of burnt grass that had borne witness to the fury of Balor’s eye. Scotti sighed and shook his head slightly, unable to decide who he should look for first, so many had died or been gravely wounded.

His heart skipped a beat when his eyes found a familiar face, the warrior’s form painted with blood and woad, sword dropped where he had fallen. “Liam…” Scotti hurried over, falling to his knees when he reached the warrior. Dozens of the Halh clan’s bodies were strewn around him, broken shields and shattered spears littered the ground, Liam’s body unmoving as Scotti grimaced at the terrible wounds ravaged upon him. “No, no, no! Come on, Liam?” He placed a hand on Liam’s forehead, and his fingers on the warrior’s lips, hope flaring as he felt air press against his thumb. “You live…I’ll find Theodric, I think he’s the only healer left and then-”

Scotti broke off as more thunder rolled across the battlefield, although this had a different quality to it, musical, like the gentle tingling of rain on the leaves of the forest. The Chieftain looked up, mouth opening as the clouds parted and golden light began to build up in the sky. He wrenched his eyes away and looked over towards the cliffs, standing up to get a better view of Stiles and Findabair facing off. “I will return, Liam. With Stiles, if the gods will it.”

 

Stiles was in the dirt, on his hands and knees, his body aching, magic almost completely spent, robes sodden with blood from a dozen long, deep cuts where he had pulled on his life force to cast a spell or make an enchanted ward. The bags attached to his belt were empty, even the magical thread in his robes had been drained and turned to faded copper. _No, this can’t be my end…I must contain Findabair or it will have all been for nothing. Ah…ah, get up, Stiles._

The druid groaned and staggered to his feet, arms hanging by his side as his eyes blinked rapidly, tiredness threatening to overwhelm him. He could see Findabair grinning triumphantly as his hands brushed against one of the pouches on his belt. Stiles frowned, suddenly alert as he felt the octagonal shape of the runic stone within. He pulled it out and felt his lips twitch when he saw the symbol engraved into the smooth sandstone rock. _I told Yeshua to keep this, that he would need its protection should the village be attacked. He never was very good at following my instructions._

Stiles squared his shoulders and ignored the fresh flood of blood spilling from his unsealing wounds. He held up the stone and displayed the golden rune glowing on the surface of it. “Tell me, Findabair, do you know what this is?” The druid forced a grin when she just frowned. “This is the symbol of Danann, the mother of the gods. Now…bathe in Her furious light, bringer of evil!” Stiles crushed the stone into dust, thrusting his hand upwards.

Findabair looked around, fear twisting her features when the clouds parted and beams of golden light blasted down towards her. “Arghhh!” They collided with the sorcerer in a searing intensity that made Stiles look away, the stench of charred flesh causing him to gag as Findabair howled in pain. “AHHHH!”

“Here ends the reign of Findabair,” Stiles growled, advancing towards her slowly as the goddess’ golden light continued to smash down onto the sorcerer, driving her towards the cliff’s edge. “Deceiver of clans, traitor to the gods, profaner and wretched witch. No more shall the northern or southern lands be held hostage to your trickery! I bind you now to the depths of the ocean floor!” The druid lashed out at the same moment the light of Danann stopped and he cast Findabair off the cliff’s edge.

“No!” She screamed, magic bleeding off her thrashing body before she impacted the rocky, sea-washed shore below with a meaty thud.

“I bind you, sorcerer,” Stiles grunted, using his last burst of magic to weave the strands of the spell together. “With ice and salt and rock! Sink now to the depths and never return!” Waves crashed over Findabair’s body and she was swept out to sea, a crystalline tomb covering her body, face frozen in a rictus of terror. The druid watched her disappearing under the water, blood spilling down his face. “Lie forever in the cold darkness, dead and yet held back from entering the Otherworld, your malign influence will never escape, will never threaten my people again. You. Are. Ended!”

Stiles sagged and dropped to his knees. He looked over his shoulder, smile pulling at his lips as he saw Roscoe lying nearby, the spectral blue bear unwilling to return to the Otherworld despite his grave injuries. “Defeated her wolf then? Good, good.” Stiles grunted, crawling over the ruined grass at the edge of the cliff to sit against the bear’s back. He cast his eyes across the battlefield, satisfaction curling in his chest when he saw that Balor had been destroyed, Aed was picking up the eye of destruction as The Dagda turned towards him. Stiles’ eyes fluttered open and closed, seeing Scotti and Korey running towards him. “Ahh…”

 

“It is done, my loyal druid.” The Dagda’s words were soft and calming, like the press of winter’s first mist against his skin. Stiles opened his eyes and looked up at the god, glancing over as Aed stood by the cliff’s edge, peering into the water. “In the depths she will stay.”

“And our…agreement?” Stiles managed, the unpleasant sensation of blood trapped in his throat making speaking difficult. “Can You…can You do it?”

“It is within my power to heal you, Stiles.” The Dagda crouched in front of him, the magical staff pointing vaguely in his direction. He gestured at the battlefield beyond them. “But Balor’s magic is strong, stronger than I expected. I can use your final breaths to return those who fell in battle, as we agreed.”

“Heh, hah,” Stiles forced a grin as pain gave way to numbness and cold radiated from every limb, sinking into his bones. He looked up into the sky when the afternoon sun broke through the clouds and bathed him in golden light. “Is that really a question? They died for our plan, let them live…With Findabair defeated, the threat is gone.” Stiles spoke the last words thickly, seeing The Dagda nod and place his hand on Stiles’ forehead.

“My son will take your spirit along the paths of the Otherworld and bring you safely to the place of your ancestors.” The Dagda whispered as he pulled the final strands of life from Stiles’ body to weave the spell. “Be at peace, my druid.”

“Thank you…” Stiles murmured, eyes not quite shut, just seeing Korey’s approach. The druid sighed, his last breaths coming short and painful, though he was no longer aware of the blood dripping down his chin or soaking the ground underneath him, only the softening of the world and the slow, aching tiredness that washed over his closing eyes.

“Stiles!” Even Korey’s frightened voice failed to penetrate the darkness that enveloped him and a moment later, the druid had slipped away.

 

Liam sat up slowly, staring at his arms in wonder as the skin stitched itself back together and his shattered bones were set. As he got to his feet, the warrior heard wails of grief around him give way to awed exclamations and exalted cheers. He felt his jaw slacken as those who were once dead rose again as the living; Íosác and Ethan and Coltún were standing upright, their mortal wounds vanishing, Aiden was helping Fionn and Macen, all of them shaking their heads in confusion that gave way to relief. 

Liam staggered forward, his legs losing their stiffness after a moment. He could see The Dagda standing at the center of the battlefield, near to where Balor had dragged himself out of the earth, his staff pressed against the bloodied ground. A ghostly-white vapour hung in the air around the god before it vanished into the staff and a golden light washed across the Plains of Cooley, lingering in places with the greatest death, turning blood and gore back to flesh and strength. 

Cheering began to erupt all over the battlefield, victorious warriors waving the banners of their clans, though Liam noticed that the northern warriors were not returned to life, their dead staying on the ground. He frowned and turned away from The Dagda, looking instead towards the cliffs when Korey’s voice carried over the air, fear and grief making it high and tight. Liam saw Íosác grin at him, but he shook his head, hurrying towards Korey instead.

 

“I am alright, Theodric.” Iordáin pushed the darach’s hands off him and stood up, holding his broken bow with displeasure. “What happened?”

“You died!” Theodric laughed in relief. “But it appears we have won, and you are returned to me!” He clutched Iordáin’s hands firmly. “I am not sure how, Balor said that his spell could only be broken by…oh no.”

“What is it? Theodric?”

The darach looked over to where Aed had been near Stiles, but the god had stepped back into the Otherworld and winked from existence. He pulled Iordáin with him over to where The Dagda was surveying the victorious warriors of the Alliance. “Forgive me, great one, but…Stiles?”

“Balor’s magic was unlike any I have ever encountered, though it is spent now and can hurt no one ever again.” The Dagda sighed and waved his hand, opening a doorway to the Otherworld. Before he stepped through, the god glanced at Theodric, his expression regretful. “I am sorry, darach, even if Balor’s magic had not been tied to those that called him back, the druid and I made a pact that all who fell in service to our plans would be recalled to this world. One powerful life for many.”

“No!”

“Farewell, Theodric.”

“NO!” Theodric repeated angrily, glaring at the empty space where The Dagda had stood. He gestured at where Stiles and Findabair had had their magical battle. “Come along, Iordáin, Korey will need us.”

 

“No! NO! STILES!” Korey cried out, hugging the druid’s lifeless body tight. “You can’t go! Don’t leave us!” 

“Korey…” Theodric called out his name, passing Scotti and gripping the smith’s shoulder. “He’s gone.”

“NO! I won’t accept that! You can do something, can’t you, Theodric?” Korey turned hopeful eyes on the darach. “You were about to bring Iordáin back and there’s still, there’s still a lot of the northern warriors dead, you could-”

“No, Korey.” Theodric gestured for Iordáin to join him as Liam arrived ahead of the other leaders of the Alliance. “Not this time. The Dagda explained…there was a pact, a way to ensure that those who died here would return to us, so that no one but Stiles paid the price of Balor’s summoning.”

“No…” Korey mumbled, fresh tears spilling down his face. Even Roscoe the spectral bear had vanished, leaving them alone on cliff’s edge. He looked up at the sky, glaring at the sunshine and the now cloudless afternoon. “It’s not right, it’s not fair.”

“I know, I know.” Theodric managed to pull him away from Stiles and embraced the smith tightly. As he was trying to comfort Korey, the darach nodded at Stiles’ body. “Scotti, you should find some warriors and make a stretcher; a druid must be carried to his final resting place by his own clan.” 

“Yes, of, of course.” The Chieftain stammered, clenching his jaw as Liam stood beside him, tears in his eyes. “Let’s find, um, some shields and spears, we can, uh…”

“I’ll find Aiden and Íosác, see if they can’t…”

“Farewell, Stiles.” Theodric whispered as the conversations continued behind him. He knelt next to his friend as Korey was led away by Iordáin, the smith’s grief turning their victory sour. Theodric picked up the druid’s fallen dagger and felt a smile twist his lips as he read the runes along the blade. “I’ll make sure he gets it, Stiles.” The darach sighed, feeling tears prick his eyes, but he managed to hold them back and looked at Stiles’ peaceful face, hand lingering on the druid’s shoulder. “We won, Findabair and Balor are vanquished; the southern lands are safe. Finally, your father and his clan can rest in peace. I hope to see you again, my friend; in the Otherworld, perhaps our paths will cross.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tar amach, caomhnóirí!_ means "Come forth, guardians!"
> 
>  _Cabhair liom!_ means "Help me!"
> 
> Fionn mac Cumhaill (say it: F-yun mak-KOOL) was a mythical hunter-warrior of Irish legend, who with his followers, the Fianna, are the dominant heroes of the Fenian Cycle of stories which describe his many deeds and battles. He is directly related to the Salmon of Knowledge, battling a fire-breathing aes sídhe during Samhain to gain control of the Fianna, and legend has it that he build the Giant's Causeway; a natural wonder in the north of Ireland. A fascinating figure and one of great mythical bearing.
> 
>  _Is mise mise_ means "I am yours".
> 
> Thank you for reading this story, I've really enjoyed researching and writing this one. The next, and final, story in the series will take place at Samhain and be released at the end of October.

**Author's Note:**

> I split the first two chapters because of the Liam/Íosác smut, the second chapter will also contain smut, as well as more story. The remaining chapters will then focus on the battle itself and the aftermath. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> The following is the Primer on Who’s Who plus relevant concepts for this story based on all the others, just to catch you up!
> 
> Scotti, Theodric, and Korey were all names used at the time, or within the period of the Celts, Liam and Aiden are names of Irish descent originally and have not been changed. I've used the Irish (Gaeilge) translations of the following names:
> 
> Jordan (Iordáin), (Say it Ear-e-dawn)
> 
> Isaac (Íosác), (Eee-sock)
> 
> Colton in lieu of Jackson which didn't translate at all (Coltún) (Colt-une)
> 
> Findabair the Irish name for Gwenhwyfar which is the old name for Jennifer, the Irish meaning being "The White Enchantress" which seems appropriate!
> 
> Yeshua: the ancient version of Joshua, or Josh the season 5 chimera. In this instance, Yeshua is the Hewbrew name and Stiles mentions in an earlier story that Yeshua washed up on their shores some seasons prior, victim of a shipwreck.
> 
> The Hales are referred to as the Halhs, which is the Old English surname for Hale, meaning a nook, hollow, or recess.
> 
> Mason gets a small change to Macen.
> 
> Ethan becomes Éatán (say it: Ay ah tawn) which is the Irish for Ethan, a Hebrew name originally.
> 
> Gaibriél: Irish for Gabriel or Gabe.
> 
> Lidia is Lydia.
> 
> Stiles and Malia are both very unique names and as such hard to find a replacement for, so I just left those as they were, with the in-story explanation that they both come from the northern lands, a place of strange names! And Nolan remains as Nolan as he's a King of the Fair Folk and as such can have an odd name.
> 
> The Dagda: god of fertility, agriculture, manliness and strength, magic, Druidry, wisdom, with control over life and death, weather, crops, time, and the seasons. He possesses many magical artefacts, though he'll be using the _lorg mór_ which is a magical staff/club that can kill with nine men with one blow and return life with the other end. It literally means "the great staff/club/mace".
> 
> Aed is a god with many legends attached to him. For the purposes of this story, I am using the ones that say The Dagda was his father, and Aed himself was a strong warrior and god of the underworld/afterlife.
> 
> Balor was king of the Fomorians, a group of supernatural beings. He is often described as a giant with a large eye in his forehead that wreaks destruction when opened, and is considered to be a god of death, drought, and blight.
> 
> The Otherworld was considered by the Celts as the realm of the deities and possibly also of the dead. It is often described as a supernatural realm of everlasting youth, beauty, health, abundance and joy, and can be entered through various "doorways" that parted the veil between the real and Otherworld. These doorways were reached by entering ancient burial mounds or caves, or by going under water or across the western sea. At certain times of the year, the veil between the Otherworld and this one is thin, during the festivals of Samhain and Beltaine. 
> 
> The aes sídhe (say it: ace shee) are fairies (or elves) who live underground in the fairy mounds/forts/rings. In this story, Nolan is King of the aes sídhe in the forests near Stiles' village, and Macen is one of his princes. Banshees (both in this story and in canon) come from the old Irish legend of the bean sídhe (from Old Irish: ban síde), which means "woman of the sídhe".
> 
> An abhartach: Irish for dwarf, according to legend, the abhartach is a magical creature of great wickedness that terrorized the land around him, and could rise from the grave multiple times. In some versions, the abhartach rises to drink the blood of his victims.
> 
> Lugh: Celtic god of skill, crafts, the arts, and a few other areas. Often depicted as a youthful warrior hero.
> 
> Additional explanations of concepts will be given as needed at the end of the other chapters.


End file.
